Where the Heart Goes
by Ruby Casablanca
Summary: Third in the TBaH series. Elodie's marriage is falling apart. Kase's past is ruining his future. Auden is running across the globe for a chance at love while Hayden finds it exactly where she shouldn't. Delia is in the midst of a Selection. And Gabbi is trying to live as best she can before death catches up. Six Schreave children, six stories, one unforgettable family. SYOC Closed.
1. The Thing About Heart Transplants

The Thing About Heart Transplants

The thing about heart transplants is, they don't last forever.

For that reason, Gabrielle Schreave didn't expect to live past eighteen. Really, she never expected to live past five, but when you're a princess, things like vital organ transplants and life saving immunosuppressants are luxuries you could afford.

Her memories from "the incident" were blurry at best. From what her parents told her, she took a tumble down the stairs and when she woke up, she had a brand new heart. Her parents were always touchy when it came to that fateful night. Her siblings less so. Cousin Gen still couldn't look her in the eye. Kase loved to torment her in good fun, saying that his birthday had turned into the Gabbi show, their parents always taking the day to celebrate her second chance at life. Kase always tried to play it off as a joke, but she could see how it bothered him, and over the years it kept bothering him more and more. But his "spare" complex was a story for another time.

As far back as Gabbi could remember, life had been a jumble of doctor's appointments, treatments, needles, transfusions, ER visits, rejection scares, and so many other things that would make a grown man cry. Gabbi had been through it all.

All this to say, Gabbi did not fear death. How could she fear her one constant companion? Death was as certain as the sunrise, something she had come to terms with many years ago.

No, Gabbi's fear was that she had been spending her whole life grooming herself for death, that she would never get the chance to live.

Take the palace, for example. Situated in the sprawling valleys of Angeles, just outside a shining city, it served as a beacon of luxury and paradise to all those who flocked to it year after year. To Gabbi, however, the palace was a gilded prison. It was designed to keep her inside, keep her trapped. She wasn't allowed to leave, not without months of advanced notice. She wasn't allowed to wander the palace by herself, go for walks in the garden if the weather wasn't perfect, go to the bathroom unattended lest she pass out and hit her head on the tub. There were so many restrictions, so many limitations, that Gabbi often thought she was living as a china doll confined to her glass box, trapped by her parent's fear that if someone took her off the shelf, she would shatter.

The truth was, no matter what they did, she was going to shatter anyway. That was the part her parents refused to accept.

Silver lining: Gabbi wasn't completely isolated. She was allowed to see her family, and every once in a while her parents let her attend a party or two. They did have appearances to maintain, after all. And, no matter what, they always had family meals together.

Gabbi couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing.

Walking into the dining hall, Gabbi was not surprised to see that she was not the last to arrive. Four out of five of her siblings were there, each expelling their obligatory greetings before returning to their own little worlds: Elodie to her newspaper, Kase to his plate, and the twins, Hayden and Auden, to each other. Her parents were always early risers, King Kaden and Queen Finnley of Illéa sitting at the head of the table facing the double doors. Gabbi's chair was the one adjacent to her mother's. Mom never liked having her out of sight.

"How are you today sweetheart?" Mom asked, pecking Gabbi on the cheek. "Take your medicine?"

"I'm fine, Mom," Gabbi assured. She always took her medicine. Even when it made her bones fragile and stomach turn. That was the cost of one more heartbeat.

The meal went on with the usual, unremarkable conversation until Felix Hernandez, Elodie's _wonderful_ husband, strode into the room with his signature swagger and head held high, their six-year-old daughter, Esperanza, cocked on his hip. How he managed to have so much confidence walking into a room full of people who hated him - or were too oblivious to notice the hatred (see: Mom and Dad) - was beyond Gabbi. Still, he sat down at his designated spot at the table like he owned the place, depositing Essie in the chair next to his.

Essie promptly got up and darted away, shouting "Auntie Gabbi! Auntie Gabbi!"

Gabbi's heart melted as soon as the little girl threw herself into Gabbi's arms. Blessedly, Essie had obtained all her mother's good qualities save for her year-round tan and the Spanish lilt in her voice when she spoke certain words. There was something in Essie's hands, something she wanted to show Gabbi.

"Whatcha got there?" Gabbi asked, pulling the little girl into her lap. She was sure Mom was having a nuclear panic; Gabbi could practically hear the rant about the amount of germs little children carried. But Gabbi didn't care. There were so many things other than her niece that were killing her.

Essie opened her tiny hands and revealed a rainbow pipe-cleaner sculpture. Gabbi had no idea what it was, but she supposed the point was to guess.

"Is it...a puppy?" she tried, earning a giggle from Essie.

"No, silly!" Essie said, pulling at one of the loops of piping. "It's a _mariposa_!"

Now that the loop wasn't bent, Gabbi could see how it was a butterfly - a very deformed butterfly that looked like it had enjoyed one too many cakes in its lifetime.

"Very pretty," Gabbi praised, placing the artwork on the table where it could be admired by all...not that anyone else was paying them attention. Elodie had her nose buried in the paper; she hadn't even addressed Felix's existence. Auden was talking to Hayden a few seats down, Delia was absent per usual, and Kase had his knife gripped so tightly that his knuckles were white and Gabbi wondered if she was going to have to talk him out of murder.

It was an unspoken rule of the dining table that Felix should never, under any circumstances, talk to Kase. Whoever decided that they should sit across from one another in the first place was the world's biggest moron. However, Felix always had to poke the bear.

"Kase, can you pass me the salt, brother?"

The room immediately got ten degrees colder.

Kase looked absolutely murderous as he spat, "I'm not your brother."

"Whoa whoa whoa," Dad intervened, using his best no-nonsense tone which, in all honesty, had lost its touch years ago (not that any of them would tell him that). "What's going on?"

Some kind of silent battle of the eyes went on between Kase and Elodie as they stared each other down with glares dark enough to kill. Then, Kase stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. He threw his napkin down on his untouched plate. "I'm leaving."

"Not you're not! Not until you explain what the hell is going on," Dad insisted, now angry that he was being ignored.

"Ask Elodie."

With that, Kase stormed out of the dining hall, making sure to slam the doors as he left. Felix made his eyes go wide, muttering something under his breath before grabbing the salt himself. Only he mustered up the will to eat, not bothered. Everyone else was looking at Elodie, who was red-faced with both anger and embarrassment.

"Elodie, sweetheart?" Mom prompted, her voice quiet but strong, the way it always was when she wanted to pry but didn't want to outright confront anything. Gabbi wondered, briefly, if a lot of their family problems would have been solved if everyone wasn't so afraid to push.

"I have nothing to say," Elodie replied, looking fixedly at the double doors, as if she could will Kase back inside and throttle him. "I don't know why he acts the way he does. It needs to stop."

"I agree," Dad hummed, chewing thoughtful on the corner of his toast. "I'll have a talk with him, figure things out."

That was always Dad's response, and, as always, nothing would change. Nothing would ever change until they started being honest about their problems, and Gabbi learned early on that that would never happen. Still, Elodie nodded. She had significantly paled now that the initial outburst was over, her appetite gone. Elodie placed her fork on her place and stood, much more gracefully than Kase had.

"May I be excused? There are some reports I want to complete before lunchtime."

"Of course," Dad replied, looking at her half-eaten plate. His brow scrunched with worry. "Don't work too hard."

Elodie nodded, then leaned over to kiss Essie on the forehead. The little girl shimmied in Gabbi's lap, smiling at her mother's love. The two sisters shared a look, one that spoke immense gratitude on Elodie's part that she had someone with whom to entrust her daughter. When she said her other goodbyes, Gabbi did not miss Elodie's subtle cringe as Felix's lips landed on her cheek. She exited the room as quickly as possible.

On Elodie's way out, Delia was on her way in. Delia was oblivious to the battle field she had just wandered in to, throwing her fuzzy-slipper clad feet up onto the dining table, her floral kimono trailing on the floor while she pushed her bug-eyed sunglasses atop her rats nest of a head. That was Delia: a walking hot mess.

"What's up?" she asked, her voice still coated with sleep. She literally must have just rolled out of bed. "What did I miss?"

"Feet off the table, dear," Mom reprimanded gently, and Delia obeyed with a long sigh.

Delia grabbed a handful of strawberries, juice running down her fingers as she plopped them into her mouth. "I'm actually glad you're all here, because I wanted to talk to you about something."

"What is it?"

"I want to have a Selection."

Dad choked on his toast. Mom dropped her tea cup, liquid pouring onto the table. Even the maids were momentarily stunned before rushing to clean the mess. Everyone else looked like Delia had grown a second head.

"What?" Delia demanded, her eyes getting stormy, her petulant tone setting in. "Why are you all looking at me like that?"

"We're just...surprised," Mom said gently, putting it far nicer than the, _you've lost your damn mind_, Gabbi was thinking.

There was another unspoken rule Gabbi and her remaining siblings had agreed to after Elodie's train wreck of a Selection: never again. They had all sworn off of the idea of a Selection for their different reasons, but the core reason was Elodie. Sure, the Selection had worked out for their parents and grandparents, but tragedy always seemed to follow in its wake, whether it be physical, emotional, or both. And the Schreave family had suffered enough.

"We didn't think that was something you wanted," Dad continued just as gently as Mom.

_That was an understatement_, Gabbi thought, the twins' faces echoing the same thought. Delia was a disaster, this was true, but it wasn't just in looks. Delia was _messy_, from her outward appearance to the drama she stirred. She couldn't go a week without being the center of some tabloid drama, running around Angeles with her trashy friend group, getting wasted and hooking up with celebrities. A Selection - the definition of prim and proper - was the exact opposite of Cordelia Schreave.

"Well, I do," Delia pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. Though she was nineteen, she acted more like nine.

"Are you certain, darling?" Mom asked, covering Delia's exposed hand with her own. "This doesn't have anything to do with Auden, does it?"

At the sound of her name, Auden raised her head but said nothing. A sense of unease settled over the table, bringing another sore talking point to the surface: in a little under a week, Auden would be shipped off to Portugal - a country she'd never been to - to be married to a prince she had never met. And as crazy medieval as that sounded, the strangest part was that she had requested it. Gabbi used to think that Auden had all the brains in the family, until she dropped that bomb. Now, she could only hope the prince who had agreed to this madness wasn't certifiably insane or some kind of freaky serial killer.

"No. I have thought it through, and it is something I want," Delia asserted, pulling herself tall in her chair. Gabbi didn't miss how she had to steady herself by reaching out for the edge. Hangovers would do that. "I want a Selection."

"Very well, I'll address the idea of a Selection with the Council this afternoon," Dad said after a minute, still looking at Delia as if trying to discern any ulterior motives. Knowing Delia, it was completely possible. "And, of course, we will have to make the proper sanitation adjustments for Gabbi."

Gabbi fought the urge to roll her eyes, dread creeping down her spine as memories from what she had to endure during Elodie's Selection came to mind: all alone for months on end, watching life move on through her window, without her. Trapped. "I'll be fine, Dad. Carolina doesn't have any more foreign germs than I can find in the dirt outside."

"I'm not taking any chances." Dad had that look in his eyes that he got from time to time, that steely look that meant no one was ever going to change his mind, not even Mom.

"Alright," Gabbi sighed, placing Essie back in her own chair before getting up. If she stayed here she was going to scream, rip her hair out, or both. "Thank you, Delia, for sentencing me to months of solitary confinement."

"Gabrielle, it is not all that," Mom said, a frown pulling at her lips. Delia looked like she had some sort of comeback, but Gabbi didn't give her time to speak.

"Easy for you to say. You don't have to live with it," Gabbi replied, finally sick of being quiet. "The way you all keep treating me, like I'm something to preserve...I hate it. I might as well already be dead."

Mom had tears standing in her eyes and Dad looked a little grayer, but Gabbi couldn't bring herself to regret saying it. It was a low blow, one that Gabbi didn't pull often, but it had to be said. It wouldn't change their minds or stop them from placing her under house arrest for 'her own good', but it made her feel better. It made her feel like she was still there, like she wasn't dead yet.

Now, it was Gabbi's turn to leave the dining room.

What a fabulous breakfast.

* * *

A/N: Wow, hello everyone, and welcome to the third installment of the To Build a Home/Princess, Interrupted universe that I promised wayyyyyy back in the winter. Oops. A lot has changed since then; I've graduated from pharmacy school, been job hunting...but better late than never, right?

The set up of this story will be...different. In poor summary, this story will revolve around six interwoven story lines of the six Kinnley children, because apparently I REALLY like making myself suffer, but I think it will be worth the pain if I can pull it off. It will also include some "interludes" where I insert micro-stories about your faves (any Heather fans out there? She's back and getting her own story...at some point). However, I am not writing things willy-nilly; I do have an outline that I will follow.

This story is filled with old and new faces! Unfortunately for new readers, that means you probably will have to read the other two stories to get a complete sense of what's going on - unless you don't mind jumping in with all the spoilers in the water. Since the Kinnley kids were only briefly touched upon in PI, new readers can probably piece together the back story of all the adults along the way if you really want to.

Now, to the question everyone is asking: will there be a Selection? The answer is yes...and no. There will be a Selection aspect to this story, but please understand that** it will not be the main focus**. The Selection, and the Selected, will not be featured every chapter. I cannot even promise they will be featured every other chapter. This story is more to satisfy those who have followed the other two stories and want to see their faves in action.

That being said, I will accept **FIVE (5) **male characters to be a part of Princess Delia's Selection. Now, you may ask, "why so few?" See the above paragraph. There are also about 20 new characters of my own that I am introducing in this story; I don't have the creative juices to fit in 20 more external OCs without screwing everything up. I think five is a suitable number that will allow me to develop the characters decently. I have learned from past stories that I really only end up focusing on about 5-7 characters fully anyway. I want to be able to do these characters justice in the time they're featured.

Rules will be the same as past Selections:

Basic guidelines to follow: Male, Illéan, between the ages of 18-24 (Delia is 19 for reference)

1) No recycling characters from other SYOCS. Trust me, I will know.

2) Diversity, _Diversity, **DIVERSITY!**_

3) No one can be related to or friends with any royals or previous Selected. From any country. From any story, canon or otherwise. At all. Whatsoever. That includes friends of friends, family members, babysitters, pets, etc...having these connections as well. Your character also cannot be royal/noble. Sending me these characters will result in **automatic rejection**. I don't have the time to figure out how my 20 new OCs met your OC. Caveat: politician's sons are acceptable so long as they have not had any substantial contact with the royals.

4) If employed, please make your character's job reflects their age. I do not want to see any 18 year old CEOs or editors in chief. If they're 22 or younger, it's very likely they're still in college, or even high school. Let's aim for realism.

5) Submissions through **PM only**. I need that line of contact in case I need to ask questions about your character. And please, for the love of all that is sacred, **detail your submission forms**. The more information you send, the more likely I will be inclined to like your character.

6) Authors may submit as many characters as they want, but** I will only accept one character per author**.

I'll have submissions open until I find five guys that I really vibe with. If I don't get back to you immediately, please don't feel like I'm ignoring you. I'm probably just dealing with real life stuff.

Like my other Selection stories, you can find inspo on Pinterest, where I am under the same name: Ruby Casablanca.

Fun fact from your freshly-minted PharmD: Organ transplants do not last forever; average lifespan after heart transplant according to the American Heart Association is about 10 years. Gabbi's immunosuppressive regimen is modeled after ones we give real life patients - a cocktail that includes 3 classes of medications: a steroid, a calcineurin inhibitor, and an anti-proliferative agent. While these meds keep your body from rejecting an organ (most of the time), they do that essentially by shutting down your immune system so that your body is physically incapable of mounting an attack against the foreign material. This is great for the organs! But can cause some pretty terrible consequences to the host.

If y'all ever want advice on how to realistically harm/treat your characters with fancy diseases, I'm here to help (PSA: WebMD is trash - don't use it).

That's all I have to say for now! Until the next update! Happy submitting!


	2. The Thing about Selections

A/N: OMG Y'ALL I'M CRYING I'M SO HAPPY TO SEE YOUR BEAUTIFUL FACES IT'S BEEN SO LONG! My apologies in the delay at posting the submission form. It is now available, and I am looking forward to reading the characters you submit (and to those who can't, I totally understand. I'm just so glad to have you along for the ride)! I can't wait to create an awesome story with you :) These first six chapters are set up to introduce you to the six kids. After that, the real story can start unfolding. For those of you that need/want a refresher course, I've posted mini-bios of the Schreave family on my profile page. And if anyone ever has any questions, or just wants to chat, hit me up anytime! I hope y'all enjoy!

* * *

The Thing about Selections

The thing about Selections is, they don't always end in happily ever after.

People got so caught up in Maxon and America, or Kaden and Finnley, that they tended to forget that Selections brought more terrible couples into the world than good. Until Maxon's tenure, the Selection had been rigged so that only the high caste girls could win. Each choice was political move or predetermined expectation. Spencer Illéa had faked his death to avoid the torture. A generation later, Abby Tamblin, winner of the Selection, had killed her so called 'true love' to marry her cousin, Porter Schreave. Then they had a horrible marriage that brought Clarkson Schreave into the world, and Elodie very much would like to forget the hateful, abusive storm cloud that was her great-grandfather.

Even when her grandparents and parents had their Selections, while they found love at the end, so many other people got hurt. There were rebellions and terrorist attacks. Innocent people died. Sometimes, on certain days, Elodie found her father staring out into the gardens, his eyes a million miles away, still haunted by all that he'd lost.

All the evidence against having a successful Selection was right there. So Elodie had no idea why she thought her Selection would turn out any different.

True, no one had died. Elodie was quite proud of that. In fact, her Selection was so opposite of exciting that the public got bored about half way through when they realized that there wasn't going to be any scandal. Elodie was low-key like that - matronly, some people would say, even from a young age. She thought that was a good quality to have, especially after an era of so much unrest and upheaval. She thought it meant that there could finally be peace.

What it really turned out to mean was her husband having the bright idea to cheat on her.

No, cheating was the wrong word. Cheating implied that Felix was going behind Elodie's back, sneaking around, covering up his tracks. When in reality Felix had no problem parading town with his twenty-three-year-old mistress, showering her with the kind of love and attention he used to give Elodie before she had their daughter.

That's what Elodie didn't understand. Where did it all go wrong? They had been so madly in love in the early days of their relationship. During the Selection, everyone knew that Felix had stolen her heart, right from the start. So, when did it change?

Over the years, Elodie had had many thoughts, not all of them good:

_Was I a bad wife? Was it because I work too much? Did I not give him enough attention? He always said he liked powerful women, but was he threatened by my being the heir? _

It was all bullshit, because Elodie knew this wasn't her fault. She didn't make Felix have an affair; he did it all on his own.

Divorce was not an option. Not after she had gone through the spectacle of a Selection, and she had worked so hard to charm her parents and the media with the illusion of her 'perfect' marriage. Besides, she would be thirty next summer. No one would want to take on someone like her, at her age, with a child and demanding career. All she could do was hold her head high and carry on.

But why did her siblings make it so hard? There were days she regretted confiding in them, especially Kase. Unlike the others, who just grew more and more despondent at the situation as the years went on, Kase grew angrier, and that made Elodie angry.

How dare Kase have the nerve to act offended when he was the reason why -

Elodie cut off that train of thought. Rationally, she knew it wasn't her brother's fault. He didn't want to be cheated on as much as she didn't. But on her darkest days, Elodie couldn't help but think that if Kase hadn't've brought that girl around the palace, then she wouldn't be in this situation.

_Wishful thinking_, Elodie told herself as she leaned back in her chair in her office. She pinched the bridge of her nose, the words of the report in front of her swimming as she tried to focus on both taxes and her crumbling marriage. Not even Janus, her fat tabby cat named for the black and orange split of fur that ran down his face, sleeping her in lap, could make her feel better. She should have eaten more, or at least finished her coffee. Maybe that would've stopped the pounding in her skull.

Oh, not the pounding in her skull. That dull thudding sound was someone knocking on her door.

"Come in," she called, rubbing her temples while she prayed, _Please, don't let it be another meeting._

It was her new assistant, the fourth one in as many months. Not many people could cut the long hours Elodie pulled, hence the quick turnover.

This woman was petite, with an angled bob and bright red lipstick that must have taken at least ten minutes to get as fresh and crisp as she wore. Elodie gave her three weeks.

"What's this?" she asked, taking the thick stack of papers from her assistant's hands. Janus, not liking the disturbance of his afternoon nap, jumped from her lap and ran out the office door. Rude.

"Protocol for Princess Cordelia's Selection."

"I'm sorry, did you just say _Delia_ is having a Selection?"

What the hell did she miss at breakfast?

The fact that any of her siblings wanted a Selection was shocking, but Delia most of all. Elodie maybe expected it from Hayden, or even Auden before the whole arranged marriage thing came about. But Delia? Never in a million years.

"Yes. It is all written there, Your Highness," the woman replied chipperly, as if a stack of eighty pages was something that Elodie had time to read. As if she didn't have other, more pressing work to take care of. "Also, you have a call on the line from Allens - the Governor himself."

"If he has business to discuss, why not call my father?"

"I believe he said this is a personal call, Your Highness."

With that, the assistant curtseyed and scampered off in her little high heels. Elodie shortened her expiration date to two weeks, and that was if the blisters on the woman's heels didn't bleed first.

The Selection paperwork could wait. A governor could not, especially not the Governor of Allens. Elodie reached for her phone and pressed the blinking red button on the receiver.

"Office of the Crown, Her Royal Highness Elodie Schreave speaking," she spoke formally into the phone, readying her pen and paper for whatever Mathis Reinhardt was about to say. Personal call or no, it was unusual for him to use work lines for anything. Usually he sent his personal messages through his wife, Josie Reinhardt, née Woodwork.

"Well, good afternoon Princess," came a voice that was definitely not Mathis. It took a second for recognition to kick in, but when it did, joy spread throughout Elodie's body from her nose to the tips of her toes. "It is good to hear your voice."

"Jordan," Elodie replied, unable to stop the smile growing across her lips. "Your father is not going to be happy if he finds you wasting government minutes talking to me."

Memories of many midnight long-distance calls came filtering through Elodie's mind. She and Jordan used to be inseparable like that, as many best friends are.

"Well, then let's make this quick." There was rustling from the other end of the line, probably Jordan moving around. "First thing's first, this is no longer my father's line. It's mine."

"What?"

"Yep! Dad stepped down right before elections, decided it was time to retire. He is no longer the Governor of Allens. I am. Or, will be, come January."

Elodie was speechless. Jordan laughed at her astounded silence. "You seriously didn't know? Shame on you, not keeping up with your own government."

It was all teasing, but Elodie still felt her face flush. She had been so distracted these past weeks, with her husband and daughter and her crumbling personal life. She felt the hints of failure creeping into her bones.

"I've been...busy," she said defensively, knowing it was a poor excuse. Thankfully, Jordan didn't seem to mind.

"Yes, yes, peace tour to New Asia, very nice. How was that?"

"It was...good. Glad to be home," Elodie glossed over the trip. Truth be told, she didn't remember much of it between having to stop her husband from flirting with Princess Han Soon-Mae and keeping her father from suspecting that anything was wrong. "But, back to you, you're governor now? I didn't even know you were running!"

"Last minute addition to the ballot," Jordan said, very nonchalant. "Apparently people see a lot of my dad in me. Swung the votes in my favor."

"I'm glad it's you, and I say that with only a little bit of bias," Elodie replied, smiling when she heard Jordan laugh. "I met with the other guy a few months back - a real stick in the mud."

"That's why I'm calling. My inauguration isn't until January, but I've still got a lot of things I need to do before I take office...including swinging by your place and getting the seal of approval from the royal family."

The thought of seeing Jordan again, after so many years apart, warmed Elodie's heart. When was the last time he had been to the palace? Maybe before he left for college, nearly a decade ago. Time went by too quick, and Elodie had gone too long without seeing her best friend.

"Let me check my calendar," Elodie hummed as she flipped through her planner. Most of her days were already booked solid, but this was Jordan. She would make an exception. "It's going to be a real madhouse around here soon. Delia's having a Selection."

"Are you serious?" Jordan asked, just as baffled as Elodie sounded when she found out. "I thought that girl was, I don't know..."

"Yeah, me too." Elodie didn't need Jordan to finish that sentence to know what he was going to say. Delia was, well, _Delia_. "She said it's what she wants, that she'll take it seriously. I'm not entirely sure I buy it, but we'll see."

"And how do you feel about it?" Jordan asked, his voice carefully guarded. "Another Selection?"

Elodie stared at the framed photo on her desk: a family portrait taken two summers back on a family trip to the Amalfi coast. The three of them were smiling so wide, blue water sparkling in the background, not a care in the world. Felix had bought her a diamond anniversary band to commemorate five years of marital bliss. Elodie didn't know it then, but Felix had been nine months deep into his affair. She found out three weeks later while lying in bed, her husband dumb enough to leave his phone out where she could see his texts.

What a bunch of bullshit.

"Fine, it's fine," Elodie lied. It was so natural for her to lie about everything now. She had been doing it for so long. "Anyway, I have some spare time this Friday, if that works?"

"Perfect," Jordan rolled on, and Elodie was grateful for it. She struck a big red 'x' through two meetings and a grand opening ceremony planned for that day. She would rather spend her time with Jordan than playing happy couple with Felix. "I'll bring the family down, make a trip out of it. I know Mom has been dying to see you all."

"I'm sure Dad will love that." It had been over a year since Josie had made her way out to the West Coast, and Elodie knew her father was missing his best friend. For once, there was something to look forward to. "See you all soon, Governor."

Another chuckle rolled through the line. "See you soon, Princess."


	3. The Thing about Families

A/N: My apologies for the abrupt absence so early on. I've been a very busy bee. I passed my boards, got my pharmacist license, got a full-time job at the hospital I have interned at for the past two years, moved into my new apartment, went on vacation, and celebrated my birthday all within the span of when I last touched this story. Needless to say, a lot has changed, but the stressful part is behind me. Now, I can focus more on the story.

I just wanted to say thank you to those people who submitted characters! I have accepted some very lovely, very unique boys I cannot wait to sink my teeth into. That being said, the SYOC is still open to those who still wish to submit a character! I hope you all enjoy this Kase-centric chapter!

* * *

The Thing About Families

The thing about families is that they're complicated.

They're full of drama, mess, they meddle in every aspect of your life, and you're stuck with them for the rest of eternity.

At least, that was the family you were born into. The family you chose was supposed to be better. It was supposed to be a network of support. It was supposed to be the arms you fell into when the family you were born into grated on your nerves so hard you thought you might just go insane. The family you chose wasn't supposed to make you feel like shit 24/7, cheat on you, and flaunt that fact in front of your face.

Elodie clearly never got the memo.

Which would have been fine - no it wouldn't. It could never, _ever_ be_ fine_ \- if Elodie's pathetic excuse for a husband had chosen to cheat with anyone else.

Some days, Kase thought that Felix did it on purpose - picked the one person he knew would drive the knife in deepest. But on those days, Kase forgot how much of an ignorant ass Felix was, and that he lacked the capacity to scheme up something so cruel. An affair like this...there was no other word to describe it other than cruel. It caused both Kase and Elodie pain every day. Some days were better, but some days were like breakfast today. Kase had smelled him, smelled_ it_, and his vision went red. Rage crept into his veins, and all he wanted to do was reach across the table and throttle Felix. It took every ounce of self-restraint Kase had to leave the room.

He settled for punching the wall instead. If Kase imagined Felix's face in the plaster, that was between him and the powers that be.

How dare Felix show up to breakfast wearing another woman's perfume! Wearing_ her_ perfume.

Brayden's perfume.

All these years later and she still wore the same perfume. It triggered the worst parts of Kase, drove him insane to the point where he couldn't even think straight. Even now, when he thought about his first serious relationship, Kase could only remember the bad times. Were there even any good times? There had to have been. He used to be so in love with Brayden. There had to be a reason why. He just could not remember; he _refused_ to remember.

Turning Brayden Malik into a heartless, gold-digging harpy was how he coped with the fact that she had jumped off his dick and onto Felix's as soon as she got the chance.

She was using him. Of course she was using him. Kase was the spare. It was all he was good for: a stepping stone on the way to the top. Why settle for second best when she could have the Crown Prince?

Dad used to say that Brayden's mother, Angelina Malik, was no better when she was in his Selection: always cutting others down and climbing her way to the top. He had tried to warn Kase, cautioned him to be careful. Kase had ignored him. Kase thought Brayden was different, didn't want to judge her based on her mother's sins. Obviously the apple did not fall far from the tree.

There were times when Kase wondered if Brayden had ever loved him at all, or if she had only seen a challenge that even her mother could not win. Was it all just a game to her? Was any of it real?

"Oooof, who pissed in your Cheerios?"

Kase was violently pulled from his train wreck of thoughts by his younger sister. Delia was perched on a widow sill, half hidden by the heavy curtains, dressed like a blind hippie had picked her clothes. Her legs were crossed underneath her while she smoked something that smelled suspiciously of marijuana. How she manged to sneak the stuff inside, Kase did not want to know. But that was Delia: always up to no good.

"Are you high right now?"

"Want some?" she asked, proffering the itty bitty stub of her joint. "Looks like you could use it."

"Seriously, Dee?" Kase asked, incredulous. His sister really did know no bounds. "It's nine in the morning."

"Chill out Incredible Hulk," Delia scoffed and rolled her eyes, exhaling a puff of smoke out the window. "Isn't it also a little early to be punching holes in walls? Maybe if you were more like me, you wouldn't be such a goddamn rage-aholic."

Kase flexed his bruised knuckles and bit back the urge to mock her. If only a little bit of weed could solve his problems. He'd been seeing his therapist for years, and even they couldn't fix him.

"I think I'll take my chances."

Delia shut the window, stubbed the joint out, and threw the remains into the vase. She didn't even seem apologetic about vandalizing her home. Irreverent to the core, that was Delia.

It was only when she brushed by him that Kase noticed Delia's eyes were rimmed-red. It could have easily been from the weed, but that wouldn't have made her cheeks splotchy, and it wouldn't have made her nose bright red either. Kase was going to ask about it, the anger suddenly faded because _why is my sister crying? _But then she snapped on her sunglasses and turned the corner to the dining hall. Gone.

Kase would have gone after her, but what would he say?

Damn. When did it become so hard to talk to his own sister?

Whatever distance had grown between them wasn't going to be crossed in a day. Particularly not this day. So, Kase kept on his path to his room, keeping his head down and his thoughts to himself. He didn't need any more negative attention from the staff. They were already going to be mad at him about the hole. They knew it was him, too; they had long since been familiar with the size of his fist and exactly how much damage it could cause to the decor.

The thing was, Kase wasn't a violent person. He wasn't even an angry person, per say. He just had so many feelings all at once, so many of them negative, that he felt like if he didn't get them out somehow, he would explode. His therapist kept telling him to find "healthy outlets", but there was something about the sharp sting of scraped knuckles, a point of pressure, a moment of pain, that could snap him out of the most turbulent of head spaces.

Kase knew that was unhealthy. When he first told his therapist, they asked him what kind of trauma he'd endured as a child. He felt like an idiot saying he had none. He had a perfect childhood.

So why was he so fucked up inside?

In his room, Kase let the tension from the morning fall away.

The phone in his pocket buzzed. He pulled it out and read the banner that popped up on the screen.

_**_kinky_photog_** __has posted a picture of you_.

Rolling his eyes, Kase swiped to open the InstaGraph link. It took him to a familiar page exclusively dedicated to one thing: black and white photos of he, his cousin Gen, and her wife Neelam in various scandalous scenarios. Based on the content of the page, the whole world probably thought that the three of them were engaged in the most taboo ménage-à-trois of all time. When in reality, the page was the culmination of too much wine, an old Kodak polaroid, and Neelam's intense desire to troll the universe.

This particular photo was an oldie but goodie. Taken a year and a half ago on Bastille Day, it featured a very disheveled Kase with his shit collar popped and open, dark lipstick marks scattered across his cheeks and clavicles, his hair wild like fingers had run through it. Neelam stood with her back to the camera, looking seductively over one shoulder while pouting her lips painted as dark as the marks on Kase's skin, one hand curved around his neck. Gen had taken that one, Kase recalled, right after he had managed to peel a couple drunk party girls off of him and nearly fallen in a fountain. The public didn't know that part though. And they never would.

The caption read: _je t'aime_ followed by multiple lipstick mark emojis. As if the picture wasn't enough to get the point across. It was definitely Gen's work - probably payback for the last picture Kase posted of her holding a pizza box wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs that read "wide load" on the ass.

Because Kase was an agent of chaos, he liked the photo and watched the reactions pour in.

This would be front page news in some tabloid tomorrow. It always was.

Satisfied, Kase scrolled through the rest of his notifications. Most were insignificant. There were a ton from Tweetster, SnapClick, and InstaGraph, per usual. A couple of reminders for events he had no intention of going to. He had slept through two of the missed calls, and another one he declined during breakfast. They were all from Drina.

Damn, she could be needy sometimes.

Then Kase remembered what day it was.

_Fuck._

Kase had never dialed a number so quickly in his entire life. While the phone rang, Kase tried to calculate just how screwed he was. At least it was still a decent hour in Russia. Drina wouldn't be asleep...hopefully.

The phone picked up. There was static. And then -

"What do you want?" came a rough, masculine voice that definitely did not belong to Drina. The Russian accent sounded defensive, angry even. Though he had never met the owner, Kase immediately had an idea of who it was. Tsarevich Ivar Irvaninoff was known for being amiable until the moment someone hurt his little sister. He had also vocally disapproved of Kase and Drina's relationship from day one.

Ivar had good reason. What kind of boyfriend forgot their girlfriend's birthday?

"Is Alexandrina there?" Kase asked, picking at the hem of his sleeve. He hoped he didn't sound nervous. "Can I talk to her?"

There was noise on the other end, muffled talking. Kase knew a side conversation when he heard one. Drina was there, but his chances of getting her on the line were dwindling by the second.

"She does not wish to speak to you," Ivar replied, his tone still clipped, suggesting that if Kase were there in person, Ivar would punch him in the face, diplomacy be damned.

"I know I messed up, but if she would just let me explain - "

"Stop calling here, Schreave."

Rage crept into Kase's veins at the idea of being cast aside by yet another person. "No, you listen to me - "

The line went dead.

Kase was so angry he threw his phone across the room.

Right at his Dad.

Luckily, King Kaden Schreave had quick reflexes, dodging the airborne device before it could hit him square in the forehead. The phone landed with a cracking sound at the older man's feet. Kaden sighed. Kase winced. That would be the third phone this year. Definitely not getting out of paying for that one.

"Is now a bad time?" Dad asked as he bent to retrieve the phone, knowing full well that yes, it was a terrible time. But he had on that face and was using that tone that said that he didn't care what Kase was going through, they were going to talk. Now.

Kase knew it was about breakfast. It had to be about breakfast. They had this talk at least once a week, and nothing ever changed. Nothing would change until Elodie finally kicked that scum bag to the curb. But she had banned the entire household from whispering a word to Mom or Dad for the sake of their 'fragile' state of mind. Please. Nothing was fragile about Kaden and Finnley. It was just Elodie-speak for 'I'm too prideful to admit that I messed up by marrying this loser and I'm too much of a coward to show that mistake to the world, even if it means ruining my family in the process'.

But so long as Kase couldn't explain any of that, he got the pleasure of looking like the bad guy to everyone, including his parents.

_Might as well get this over with_, Kase sighed internally and waved his Dad inside his room. There was a pile of dirty clothes he could sort for the maids to take his mind off of the lecture he could probably recite.

"I have something for you," Dad said, changing the expected programming. He dug around in his pocket before fishing out a small wrapped package. He handed it to Kase. "You're a hard man to find. I haven't had the chance to give this to you. It's from New Asia."

Kase eyed the box with suspicion, but he took it all the same. There had to be a catch.

"You haven't brought us back souvenirs in years."

"It's not from me. It's from Princess Han Soon-Mae."

Ah, there it was.

Kase tried not to roll his eyes as he peeled away the wrapping. The box itself was lovely, dark wood with intricate lotus flowers carved on the exterior. It must have cost a fortune. The suspicion escalated when, from inside the box, Kase removed a jade pin in the shape of the same lotus flower carved on the outside. An extravagant gift for someone with whom the princess had barely exchanged five words her whole life.

"Dad, what the hell is this?"

"I told you, a gift from the princess. The Empress made it seem like she liked you quite a bit."

"She doesn't even know me!"

"Nonsense. You've spent nearly every New Years together since you were children."

"Yeah, in opposite corners of the room speaking to different people! I can't believe - " Kase cut himself off before he said something he regretted. This was typical Dad, butting his nose into things that were not his business. "I'm in a relationship with Drina!"

"Are you? I can never keep up," Dad replied, his words implying that yes, he had listened to every word of that phone call. Perfect. Now onto the lecture of... "Kasey, you need stability in your life. For years you've been floundering. I can't stand seeing you so lost."

"And your idea of fixing me includes, what? Marrying me off to New Asia to push your political agenda?" Kase accused, knowing full well that would fulfill every single one of his father's fantasies. Not that he ever intended to use his children as pawns, but everyone knew that Kaden Schreave's two goals in life were to see his children live happily ever after, and maintain peace with New Asia by any means necessary. Those were his father's goals. Not Kase's. "No thanks. I'm not Auden."

"Just think about it," Dad encouraged, both hands up like he was trying to placate a bear. "Like I told Empress Han Eunmi - "

"Told her what?" Kase cut his father off, horrified at the implications of what that meant. What the hell had Dad done?

"I simply said that you were interested in settling down, looking for a good match..."

"Oh my God," Kase breathed, trying not to explode. He could feel the vein in his temple throbbing, hot and angry. His anger must have shown, because Dad did not look happy either.

"I was only trying to help you!"

"You're only making things worse!" Kase shouted, having reached his limit. His blood was boiling and his heart was pounding in his ears. "You only ever make things worse!"

Kase regretted saying the words as soon as they left his mouth, but he couldn't take them back. Not only could he not take them back, but he could not apologize for them. Not when they were the truth. He could not deny that his life would be so much easier without his Dad and his Mom trying to tell him what to do. He wasn't broken. So what if he wasn't married? So what if he never married? That didn't mean there was something wrong with him. And marrying Han Soon-Mae or Drina or anyone else sure as hell wasn't going to fix what was wrong. It wasn't that simple.

All at once, the bad things came crashing down, closing him in, smothering him. He needed out. He needed out _now_. Before that look on his Dad's face suffocated him with guilt.

"I'm leaving."

"Kasey - "

"No, I need to leave."

The conviction of it was what finally silenced Kaden. Kase could see all the argument in his father's eyes die, replaced by a tired acceptance. He was not unfamiliar with this particular dance. Kase had already left the house twice this year under similar circumstances.

"For how long?"

"I don't know."

"Right," Dad said, his tone neutral in the most non-neutral way possible. He had his king face on now, the one that he used when confronting the most cantankerous of governors and stubbornest of counselors. The face that showed just how many years of hard decisions he had had to make. He placed Kase's broken phone on the table by the door, sliding it his way. "If you leave, don't come back until you feel you've got your head on straight. We love you, Kasey, but your mother and I have enough to worry about hosting a Section without entertaining your mood swings."

The door slammed shut behind him, stinging worse than a slap in the face.

But, as much as it stung, it did nothing to distract from the constriction in his lungs. The room still felt far too small, and was it spinning or was that just him? Kase tripped over his feet and fell back against the bed, trying his best to just _breathe_. Why was it so goddamn hard to breathe?

Tears stung at Kase's eyes, hating how weak his body could make him feel. He wasn't a small guy. He was over six feet tall and worked out most days in the week, and could still be taken apart by a few choice words. Kase threw an arm over his face, hiding it from the people who weren't there.

Wet, scratchy kisses were licked across the back of his hand, and Kase felt the burning turn into something warm and a little more bearable. He unclenched his jaw, lips inching up into a smile as he took the slobbery hand and ran it through a coat of thick fur. The wet kisses increased ten fold, until the knot in Kase's chest loosened enough to let out a belly laugh.

"You still love me, don't you Titus?" Kase asked the goodest and most loyal boy in his life. Titus, the ten year old German Shepherd Kase had had since he was a teen, continued to smile a toothy smile, gracing Kase with a wagging tail and beef-breath.

"I'm sorry I'm leaving again," Kase apologized. Even though Titus couldn't understand him, he could sense Kase's sadness, and wiggled his body closer and let out a whine. Technically Titus wasn't allowed on the bed, but Kase always made an exception. What the maids didn't see couldn't hurt. "I know, I know. Don't look at me like that. You deserve better than me anyway."

Titus barked as if in agreement, and Kase chuckled.

"I guess I should get to packing."

Kase got up off the bed and Titus jumped to follow at his heels.

The duffle bag was still thrown in the far corner of Kase's closet, rumpled from the last impromptu trip. That one had been a three-week jaunt to St. Petersburg to visit Drina. The snow had been two feet deep; they shut themselves up in a hunting lodge off palace grounds and made out in the bitter cold for as long as their fingers and toes could stand it. Kase would not be welcome in Russia any time soon. Not unless he had a death wish. Or a wish to start another World War.

"Where should I go this time?"

The question was his thoughts aloud, but Titus barked happily at bedside table where his broken phone was buzzing. Despite the cracked screen, notifications from the InstaGraph post were still rolling in. It was looking to be the most-liked post on the page. Just seeing it made Kase smile.

His heart knew where he had to go. Paris it was.

Kase threw a couple tee shirts and pairs of jeans into the duffle bag, not bothering to grab much else other than the basics: underwear, shaving cream, toothbrush. Anything else he could purchase. Or, if he was being honest, he went to Versailles so much he probably already had a stash there. Satisfied, Kase shouldered his duffle bag and pocketed his passport.

"Terrorize Janus for me while I'm gone," he told Titus as he bent down for a final pet, scratching behind the dog's ears. Kase scrunched his nose as the wet, scratchy tongue liked a stripe across his face. It was disgusting and endearing all at once. "Good boy."

Kase may not miss his Dad or the palace or all the toxic lies, but he was really going to miss his dog.


	4. The Thing About Rivalries

A/N: To **Virtue01**: Yes! This story is about Kaden Schreave from The Selection canon. For better context, I must refer you to my previous stories: _To Build a Home_ and _Princess, Interrupted_.

* * *

The Thing About Rivalries

The thing about rivalries is, they're not as exciting as they seem.

Montagues and Capulets. Hatfields and McCoys. Schreaves and Illéas. History was marked by these families at odds, scandal and mistrust peppered throughout generations in order to keep the feud alive. And in the end, no one ever seemed to know nor care what started all this mess in the first place. At some point, the rivalry became boring. The children grew tired of a hatred they didn't know why they were carriying. Eventually, the urge to lay down arms and let the past go became insurmountable.

Hayden was still waiting for that last part to happen to her family.

Still, that didn't stop the butterflies from fluttering in her stomach as she unfolded and read the same, taboo invitation she had been obsessing over since she found it on her nightstand when she woke up that morning.

_Our place, tonight, ten p.m._

The cursive lettering seemed to lift off the page and tattoo themselves onto Hayden's heart. It was stupid, she knew. Stupid and risky to be seen reading this particular note, the skip in her step a dead give away, but she could not help herself. Every nerve in her body was humming, waiting impatiently for time to tick by until it was dark enough to slip out.

Hayden's romanticizing abruptly ended when Kase came barreling down the foyer with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He wore a leather jacket over a ratty tee and a pair of comfy jeans - traveling clothes. Thankfully, he was too focused on pushing full steam ahead that he did not see Hayden shove the note into the pocket of her skirt. In fact, Kase was too focused to see her at all.

How rude!

"Hey!" Hayden called after her brother's retreating form. "Where are you going?"

There were only two places Kase ever stormed off to: St. Petersburg to see his girlfriend, or Paris to see cousin Gen. Given how angry he was, Hayden's money was on Paris. He always left for Paris when he was at his lowest, something about how _'Gen and Neelam are the only people who understand me'_ or something like that. Hayden had been watching this pattern for years; Kase would be gone for a few weeks, then come back like nothing happened. For as much time as he spent with Uncle Ahren's family, Kase should have just moved there by now, though Hayden could have felt that way because she was tired of her brother hogging the royal jet.

"Paris." _Right on the money._ "Thought I'd get away for a bit."

"Shame. You're going to miss all the fun."

"Yeah, Dad said something about a Selection?" Kase scratched the back of his head, arching a brow. "Don't tell me you've gone and drank the fruit punch."

"Nope!" Hayden said, popping the 'p' as she swayed on her heels. "That's all Delia."

Kase was struck speechless, blinking slowly as if the information did not compute. "Wow, yeah not sorry to miss that. Are you sure she wasn't high or something? Because she was definitely high when I saw her before breakfast."

"She was dead serious. I've never seen her look like that."

"Knowing her, it's just an excuse to sleep with thirty random strangers."

"Kasey Declan Schreave, there shall be no slut shaming in this house!" Hayden pulled out his full name, slapping him on the arm for good measure. Her high and mighty act was hindered by the laugh she was trying and failing to suppress. "In all honesty you're probably right, but she has full autonomy of her body and it is not up to anyone to tell her what she can and cannot do with it."

"Alright, alright, I concede to the winning argument," Kase held up his hands and started backing away. "Does the victor want anything while I'm away? Perhaps another Louis to add to the collection?"

"Please, Louis is _so_ last season. It's Chanel or nothing." She flashed her Chanel-insignia bracelet just to emphasize the point. It was her favorite accessory at the moment, and went so perfectly with her pearl studs.

Kase rolled his eyes and performed a mock bow. "What Her Highness wants, Her Highness gets."

"Get out of here," Hayden shoved at Kase with a laugh. "Fly safe, and please send the jet back in time for Auden and I to fly to Portugal!"

Kase waved a hand over his shoulder, the best thing to a goodbye Hayden was going to get.

Hayden rolled her eyes and continued on her way. Some things never changed.

If only she could convince the things that were changing to remain the same.

Her room was an absolute disaster when she pushed open the double doors. Clothes and shoes were strewn over the vanity, all the furniture in the sitting area, even on the posts of one of the beds. The other was spotless, sheets pressed and neatly made, a plethora of throw pillows decorating the comforter.

At least Auden was respectful enough to keep her mess to her side.

It may have been stereotypical of twins, but Hayden had always shared a room with Auden. Not because they weren't allowed to have their own rooms; the palace was plenty big for that. No, it was because they genuinely could not stand to be without each other's company. Life without Auden was going to be so..._dull_. Hayden didn't know how she was going to bear it.

"Nearly packed?"

"I think so," Auden said pensively, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. She stood in front of what remained of her closet, the picture of indecision. "How exactly does one pack up their entire life in one suitcase?"

"Easy: buy another suitcase," Hayden said as she cleared a space on the couch and gracefully lounged across it. "Or you could just forgo this crazy idea altogether and stay here with me."

"Please, not you too," Auden groaned, a little bit of misery slipping through her placid mood. "I already had to deal with the wounded puppy eyes from Mom. I can't handle it from you right now."

"Fine, I'll just be direct," Hayden compromised, knowing full well that wasn't what Auden meant. "I don't want you to go get married to a total stranger because you feel like you have to."

"No one is forcing me to do this. I want to do this. It was my choice."

There it was, that tired resignation that colored Auden's response since she first announced her arrangement. It was a sure sign that Auden was hiding something. Hayden could not help the tinge of hurt that wound through her at the thought that her other half was keeping secrets. Of course, Hayden was in no place to call Auden out on it, because that would make her a hypocrite. It wasn't like Auden knew anything about the note in her pocket.

"So you say, but I've shared a womb with you. I know you better than anyone. And this...this is the least _you_ decision you've ever made," Hayden argued, crossing her arms over her chest. "You're the most rational, cautious person I know, and now you want to elope in some foreign country? It doesn't make any sense."

"Maybe I was tired. Maybe I wanted a change."

"Okay, so you dye your hair. Go buy a Porsche. You don't get hitched for life!"

Auden turned from the closet to face Hayden head-on, looking so much older than twenty-two.

"I don't expect you to understand Hay, but please respect me when I say this was my decision. You can't change my mind about this one."

"I just wish you weren't going so far," Hayden pouted, feeling tears sting at her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She had spent far too long applying her mascara to ruin it. "I mean, Portugal, Aud? That's a whole freaking ocean. You couldn't have picked a Governor or something?"

Auden snorted and covered her mouth, humor making this conversation a little more bearable. "Every Governor in Illéa is easily twice my age and spoken for."

"Not _every_ Governor," Hayden corrected, leaning in as she always did when she had something particularly juicy to spill. "I heard Elodie talking on the phone earlier with the new Governor of Allens - Jordan Reinhardt."

"Oh, it's been forever since we've seen him!" Auden exclaimed, a smile taking over her face as she thought of the family friends. "I hope he's well. Wait - why is he Governor? What happened to his father? Is Miss Josie alright?"

That wasn't the reaction Hayden was going for, but Auden was too naive to think of any ulterior motives. Hayden, on the other hand, was always trying to look for the scandalous, and it was no secret that Elodie and her former BFF were _close _back in the day. By the sound of Elodie's voice, that closeness could easily be rekindled by this impromptu visit. Not that Hayden was a regular supporter of infidelity. It was just that Elodie deserved some happiness in her life, and if she found it with Jordan, then it was what she deserved.

"Sounded like everything was roses," Hayden shrugged, studying her nails. It was far past time to touch up her french tips. "I think I heard them planning a family trip this way."

"That'll be nice," Auden agreed. She and Hayden had both missed Miss Josie dearly; the woman was like a second mother. "What's not nice is you spying on Elodie's conversations."

"She shouldn't talk so loudly."

"More like you shouldn't press your ear to her door."

Hayden shrugged again, but much more mischievously. "What can I say? I get it from Mom."

"I don't think Mom ever once _intentionally_ invaded our private conversations."

"To-may-toe, to-mah-toe."

Another laugh from Auden and she went back to facing her half-empty closet. The indecision returned just as soon as Auden set eyes back on the mess. Hayden let out a long-suffering sigh and got up from the couch. Honestly, how did Auden expect to survive without her?

.o.O.o.

There was a down side to sharing a room with your twin/best friend. And that was that it made sneaking out of the house nearly impossible.

Hayden was by no means a Delia. It wasn't like she was spending her weekdays figuring out ways to sneak off to clubs or parties. But from time to time, Hayden did enjoy taking a night to herself, which made slipping out unnoticed a pain. Auden was the lightest sleeper in the entire world, which made every single noise an opportunity for Hayden to be busted. Once, Hayden had dropped a pillow on the floor 'too loud' and Auden was bolt upright the next second, asking who was there. Honestly. Hayden hoped Auden's husband-to-be didn't snore, or it would be a short lived arrangement.

Auden also went to bed precisely at nine-thirty, like a grandmother. It made Hayden's meeting at ten a little harder to make, but Hayden was a pro at quick changing by now. She made sure to wear the little black dress underneath her robe, slipping out of the pink silk as soon as she thought Auden was asleep and quickly shuffling out of the room. She would put her shoes on in the hall, and she had a case of make up stashed in the bathroom nearest the main foyer.

Okay, maybe she had sneaking out down to a science. Maybe she had learned by watching Delia. So sue her.

When Hayden opened the door to the bathroom, she found that her hiding place had been compromised.

Delia was sitting cross-legged on the toilet seat, her upper body swallowed by a giant pink fur monstrosity of a jacket, and her bottom half covered in a metallic miniskirt and fishnets. A pair of platform wedges were discarded on the ground. A circle of glitter surrounded the fashion monstrosity. A circle of glitter that could have only come from Hayden's limited edition glitter palette that was created specifically for her. And Delia was wasting it on her over-applied eyelids. Combined with the teal eyeliner, she looked like a cross between Woodstock and a washed up drag queen.

"Well well well, look who we have here. Little miss priss breaking the rules," Delia crooned, already a bit spacey. It was hard to tell what she had already consumed through the overpowering scent of floral perfume.

Hayden was already running late to her rendez-vous. She did not have the time to deal with _this._ She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. "What do you want, Cordelia?"

"Nothing," Delia shrugged, snapping the palate shut and giving Hayden a sublime smile. "Hey, I'm no snitch. I didn't see a thing if you didn't."

Hayden rolled her eyes and snatched her palate back from Delia's glittery fingertips. "Get out of here. And try not to get yourself killed."

"Your concern is touching," Delia said with mock gratitude, clutching her hand to her chest, smearing the glitter all over her crop top. If a crop top was the right word for the bit of fabric that was just enough to cover her nipples and a bit of underboob. Christ. Were they even related?

Delia got up off the toilet seat and grabbed her shoes. Her movements were a little uncoordinated, but not enough to be worrisome. Hayden had seen her sister worse; she hoped that Delia would cut down on this type of behavior for the Selection, but the likelihood of that was becoming less and less.

Delia brushed close to Hayden on her way out, the fur of the pink monstrosity tickling Hayden's bare shoulder.

"What's his name?" Delia fake whispered into Hayden's ear. This close and Hayden could smell the liquor on Delia's breath, perfume unable to hide it. Hayden prickled. Tipsy or not, Delia was far too close for comfort.

"Good night, Cordelia!" Hayden snapped, pushing her sister the rest of the way out the door, unable to see Delia's pout as she firmly shut the door. Hayden wished she could slam it, but that would ruin the purpose of sneaking out for the both of them.

Alone, Hayden let out a long breath, bracing both of her hands across the sink.

_Tonight is going to be amazing_, Hayden told her reflection, taking in the sophisticated young woman who stared back.

The black dress she had chosen matured her a few years, modest yet hitting her curves in all the right places. She had decided to wear her hair loose, dark curls falling over her shoulders. On second though, maybe she should pull it back and leave a few pieces to frame her face. It would fit the ensemble better. Besides, she did so love to show off her pearls.

A few hair pins and a swipe of lipstick later, and Hayden was ready. She was practically bouncing with anticipation as she left the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind her and heading out the foyer.

Per usual, there was a car waiting in the drive, unmarked and turned off. The driver was familiar, however: an older man with white hair smoking a cigarette. He looked oh so bored to be picking a young lady up this late at night, but said nothing as Hayden approached, merely reaching to open the passenger door for Hayden to slide in. He did not ask where she wished to go, either. He already knew.

The drive was spent in silence, but that was fine. Hayden was much too nervous to participate in small talk anyway. She tried not to ruin her cuticles as she watched the Angeles lights pass her by. The city was always alive at night, so many people out and about, living their glamorous, unhindered lives. No one gave a second thought to another Range Rover; it was just another amongst the mix of Maseratis, limousines, and Hummers that graced the streets of the rich and famous. So many Angeles denizens used to be Twos. So many Angeles denizens still lived like being Twos still mattered.

The store front the driver dropped Hayden off at was less than glamorous. The neon sign flickered "open" in the grimy window, the awning overtop the front door reading "Flipp's Fine Cleaning". But this was the right place.

Hayden thanked the silent driver who sped off as soon as she was out the car. It was chilly out; maybe she should have taken a page out of Delia's book and brought a jacket. It was too late to fix that now, though. She would be inside soon enough.

The door chimed when Hayden walked inside, the musty smell of laundered clothes wrinkling her nose. Thankfully it was a short walk to the back of the store. In front of what would have been the manager's office sat a stoic-looking older man with dark, discerning eyes. He lifted his head when Hayden approached, looking her up and down, seemingly uncaring as to the royalty in front of him.

"Lovely night for a drive," the man said.

"Only if the big man's driving," Hayden replied.

The man nodded once in approval before stepping out of the way. Hayden smiled her most winning smile and went inside, minding her step as the stairs wound down, down, down into what once was probably a dark and narrow basement.

Instead of a dark, cold cellar, Hayden was met with soft, warm lights and the sound of laughter. The narrow hallway opened into a large space crafted of dark wood floors and black leather booths. Chandeliers hung low over intimate table tops. A bar lined the back wall, stools spotted with singles looking to get lucky while couples danced to the big band tucked away in the corner. Half the guests were just as famous as Delia, the other half even richer or more infamous. But in places like these, hidden corners and speakeasies tucked away in unexpected niches, everyone was anonymous.

Which made it a perfect meeting place for rivals.

Hayden didn't have to look far to find him. She would recognize him anywhere: tall, dark, and handsome dressed in an equally dark, handsome suit. His back was to her, staring at his watch as he stood at the bar, unable to see that she was behind him. Yet, he always seemed to know when she was around.

"Ten oh four," he drawled, his voice low and teasing as it always was when he spoke to her. "You're late."

"Oh no, how will you ever forgive me?"

Just as Hayden reached out to wrap her arms around him, he turned around. And oh, would she ever stop getting butterflies at the sight of him? Of those mischievous eyes? The errant curl across his forehead? The way he smiled when he saw her, the way it lit up his face?

"Let me buy you a drink? Or two?"

"I think I can manage that."

A wink and then he had the bartender concocting something with whiskey and bitters. He knew her so well. Just another thing that had her stomach flipping pleasantly.

Their fingers brushed when he handed her the glass, a thrill running down her spine at something so innocent and yet not. She hoped her hand was not shaking as she held the glass by the delicate stem. It would be a shame to shatter such a lovely glass...a lovely moment.

They stood at the bar, elbow to elbow but not quite touching. They were rivals after all. To be seen as anything else, even in such a discreet setting, would ruin everything. Or, at least that was how everyone else would see it. The world would always have its eyes on them, even in private corners. Fame - or infamy, in his case - was a curse that way. Still, even in silence, not quite touching, it was hard to pretend that this meeting was platonic.

"You're quiet tonight," he commented idly, his gaze fixed on the band ahead though she knew that his real attention was on her.

"Suppose I have a lot on my mind," Hayden replied, fingers tracing the rim of her glass. The whiskey was fire sweet and strong, though not quite strong enough to wash down the day. "Cordelia announced she is going to have a Selection."

"Ah, is that so?" He took a sip of his drink, that teasing smile on his lips. "And you think I should cast my bid, is that it?"

As much as she knew he was teasing, Hayden couldn't help but feel her hackles raise just a little. "I don't think you two have the same..._tastes_."

"Not to worry. They'd probably see my name and toss my application right out," he said. He was still smiling, but his mood sobered, all teasing vanishing as something serious took its place. Serious and intense that had Hayden holding her breath. "Besides, there's only one Schreave I'm in love with."

"_Rhys_," Hayden chided, fear shooting down her spine, casting a glance at all the people who could have heard. "I really wish you wouldn't say that."

"Why? I'm not ashamed of it."

There was nothing more Hayden wanted to do in that moment than lean up and kiss him. Her stupid, caution to the wind lover boy who so desperately wanted to pretend that they lived in a fairytale where there was nothing wrong with what they had. Who so desperately wanted to ignore years of bad blood. And Hayden wanted that too. Of course she wanted that. What little princess didn't want her happily ever after with someone just like Rhys?

It just wasn't fair that her Prince Charming was an Illéa.

"It's_ dangerous_."

His smile fell, shifting into something resigned and bitter. Not at her. Never at her. At the intangible and unfair circumstances they were born into.

"_Dangerous_," he repeated, face twisting like the word was sour on his tongue. "And yet, you still came."

"I always do," she said with a shrug, being as honest as she dared though she dared not make eye contact. "I always will. You know that."

"I do."

Hayden looked up, and some of the ache had been soothed from Rhys' face. He looked more melancholy than angry, but even that was a drop in his mask of suave indifference. That was another thing Hayden loved about Rhys. He always looked so _cool _even when he wasn't.

"I don't want to fight," Hayden said, a hint of begging in her voice. "Can't we just...stay? Like this?"

"Forever?" Rhys asked, arching one manicured brow. Maybe it was a curse as well as blessing that he knew what she meant without her saying it. "We aren't persevered in amber, Hayden."

"No, but tonight can be," she implored, daring to touch him. A hand on his cheek, so gentle. He leaned into it, finally not pretending that he was looking anywhere but at her. "One night. A perfect night to treasure."

"Any reason for tonight?" he asked, curious. His outright denial had Hayden holding onto hope. "Any reason to start hoarding memories now?"

"No reason," she lied, smiling through red lips. "No reason at all."

_I'm so scared_, is what she should have said as he turned away. _Auden's leaving. Delia's evolving. __I'm so scared that everything's changing. I can't lose you too._


	5. The Thing About Arranged Marriages

A/N: Hello wonderful readers! I just wanted to let you know that if you submitted a character and have yet to complete the form, please do so as soon as possible. The next chapter is Delia's, hence Selection things will start to happen and I need these boys! If you don't have your stuff in to me by the post of the next chapter, then unfortunately I will not be able to include them in the story.

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The Thing About Arranged Marriages

The thing about arranged marriages is that sometimes they're wanted.

Asked for, even. Requested at the behest of a usually reserved, quiet younger daughter on a normal, uneventful day. And yes, maybe there was something strange about willingly signing one's life away to a total stranger, but what was life with out a couple risks?

Auden had centered her whole life around carefully crafted to-do lists. 'Risk' was not a word in her vocabulary. Yet, there she was, sitting on the royal jet half way across the Atlantic, on her way to meet her mysterious Prince Charming.

_Prince Dorian_, Auden repeated mentally. At least her Prince Charming had a name. A name she had committed to memory along with the entire Portuguese language. She may or may not have brought flashcards and insisted Hayden quiz her. It was a twelve hour flight to Portugal, not including stops to refuel. They had to pass the time somehow.

"I swear, Kase is an animal!" Hayden whined as she exited the restroom, making a show of stomping to her seat across from Auden's. "He left the toilet seat up and I almost fell in! And did he replace the roll? Noooooo."

"I suppose we can only be grateful he gave the jet back in a timely manner," Auden replied evenly, though she was fighting down a laugh.

Hayden remained disgusted as she reclined in her seat, wrinkling her nose as she gingerly patted down the leather armrests. "I don't even want to think about the number of girls he's brought back on this jet."

"For your brother's own good, that number better be zero."

Auden had almost forgotten that her mother was with them on this trip. Auden had originally insisted on going alone, but Mom shut that down very quickly. Like, instantaneously. There was rarely a time that Queen Finnley pitched a fuss, but this was absolutely one of those times. And once Mom was going, Hayden was quick to jump on the bandwagon. Hence the entourage Auden did not want but ended up grateful for.

Mostly.

"Of course it is, Mom. Kasey is nothing but a ray of virginal sunshine," Hayden said sweetly, a sly smile on her lips for Auden that she knew their mother could not see.

Mom looked up from what she was doing and fixed Hayden with the most unimpressed stare. In the glare of the light through the window, her blue eye sparkled and her brown eye glowed golden. Auden never understood why her mother was so self-conscious about her eyes, especially when all Auden got from those killer eye genes was a steely grey-blue color which made her appear closed-off and unapproachable. Finnley's eyes, in comparison, were goddess-like, especially when she was aggravated. Like now.

Mom had brought her own work with her: a collection of different colored folders stuffed with papers. Each folder had a tab at the top with a name scribbled across, and a picture paper-clipped to the front. Auden recognized none of the people in the photos, all of them young men around her age. There was only one reason for Mom to have multiple folders containing debriefs on the lives of strange young men.

Auden was going to keep her mouth shut, stay out of business that was no her own. Hayden, however, was not past sticking her nose in the thick of things.

"Are those the candidates for Delia's Selection?"

"You know your sister," Mom sighed and shut the file she had open. "She wants to do something and then refuses to put in the work. I told her that she would have to have a public choosing ceremony, or at least a public announcement, but she just wants your father and I to do it all."

"And look at you, doing it."

"Don't start with me Hayden," Mom warned, though there was little heat to it. "You know I would do the same for you. Besides, this is the first thing Delia has shown genuine interest in since...well I can't even remember. She's been so down lately. Surely you girls have noticed."

"Down is not the word I would use," Hayden replied with a bit of snark, rolling her eyes. "More like the opposite."

Auden discreetly kicked Hayden in the shin and jumped to comment before their mother could process what Hayden was implying. "I think she's nineteen and trying to find her way in the world. It's a confusing time for everyone."

"Like you've ever been confused about anything Aud," Hayden countered with a bit of a scoff under her breath. But there was something personal there, something jealous yet defensive in the way Hayden's eyes kept sliding from her nails to the wall to the ground. Anywhere but Auden's face. Like she couldn't look her twin in the eye. "You're the most sure person I know. Always known what you want. Always."

Auden flushed and looked away. She never knew what to do with compliments. And she knew she had a reputation amongst her siblings for being the most put together -even more so than Elodie. But that didn't always feel true, especially now when her palms were sweating and her anxiety was ratcheting up with each passing mile to Portugal. Right now, Auden felt like an imposter.

So, to push the attention off of herself, she reached for the nearest file.

"Can I see them?"

"I don't think that's the best idea," Mom said hesitantly, pulling the files out of reach. "The Selection is strictly confidential. I shouldn't even have these with me, and these boys don't even know they've been Selected yet..."

"Please, Mom? I won't be there to see any of the Selection in person, and I want to know about the guys my little sister wants to fall in love with."

Auden very rarely asked for anything, so that combined with her wide-eyed gaze was enough to break down Mom's waffling defenses. Mom bit down on her lower lip, conflicted, but Auden knew she had won the moment her mother let out a long sigh.

"Not a word to anyone, promise?"

"Cross my heart."

Mom had that look like she was going to regret her decision later, but handed the files over regardless. Hayden was quick to snatch them, greedy hands taking as many as she could. One fell from her grip, papers spilling into the aisle. Auden reached down to gather them up.

They belonged to a rather attractive man who looked like had come straight from a lumberjack fantasy: flannel shirt rolled up at the elbow and a tee shirt underneath, dark beard grown just a tad wild, his dark hair falling into his dark eyes. The name on the folder said Teo Fernandez. He was from Belcourt, and he clearly liked to spend a lot of time outside if his job navigating trails at the national park was anything to go by. An interesting candidate to say the least.

"Andre Thompson, what an interesting face!" Hayden gasped, pulling out his picture to show. He was black, but there was patches of white scattered across his face, his arms, his neck. They probably covered his whole body. However, they didn't keep him from being pretty damn attractive.

"He's got vitiligo, Hay. Lots of people have it," Auden said, setting Teo aside and focusing on Andre. She skimmed his file for something more than just surface level looks. "Says here he's a student. Studies social work at Bonita University."

"How much do you wanna bet he entered because he's a sucker for charity cases?"

"Hayden, that's terrible!" Mom scolded, though Hayden hardly looked remorseful. She shrugged her shoulders and went back to perusing.

Auden had yet to open her own files. She had a stack of four, the first three unremarkable to the point where she knew that they would be short-lived faces in the palace. It was the fourth that stood out to her.

"Jaesung Kim..." Auden read, the name sounding bells somewhere deep in her subconscious. "Wait, isn't he the son of some New Asian diplomat? I thought the Selected had to be Illéan."

"Jaesung Kim has Illéan citizenship," Mom replied, though she seemed a little skeptical. "It's a little bit out of the ordinary, but you know how your father gets."

"In love with New Asia, you mean?" Hayden quipped. "If the Empress was a little more progressive, Dad would've had you married to Princess Han Soon-Mae in a heartbeat."

Auden wanted to laugh, but they all knew it was true. Kaden had spent his whole reign making sure Illéa's peace with New Asia was long lasting. He would have done _anything_ to ensure that nothing ever broke that peace again.

"Oooh, he looks promising," Mom moved to the next one, holding up the picture in her current file. The Selected in question was a rather good looking white guy with dark brown hair and eyes, his smile bright and contagious. "His name is Ezra and he is an oncology nurse from Sota."

"Seems a little too pure for Delia, I think," Hayden wrinkled her nose, turning her attention back to her own file. "She would chew him up and spit him out in a day."

"Sorry, Mom, but I have to agree," Auden said apologetically. There was no way that guy even stood a chance. Why someone like him - someone clean-cut with good morals - had entered the Selction was beyond Auden. Didn't any of these guys understand what they were getting into?

"Well, I think it's good that he is doing such wonderful things. Delia could use a little bit of direction."

There was no denying that. Delia was about as lost as a weathervane in a thunderstorm. The only question that no one could answer was: why? It was like she had woken up one day and decided to be out of control. Before that, Delia was tame...well, tamer than she was now. There was definitely none of this trash the town nonsense. That was one year ago. One year, and still no one could figure out why.

"See, like this young man here," Mom continued, pulling out another file, this one with a special sticky note on it. Obviously it wasn't too early to start picking favorites. "Dante Wallace-Chavaria, medical resident from Carolina. He clearly has goals and aspirations."

"And yet he's giving them up for the chance to win Delia," Hayden countered, flipping her hair over one shoulder, unimpressed. "He's got to have some hidden crazy to do that."

"You need to stop being so harsh on your sister, Hayden," Mom said, a frown pulling at her lips. "You girls used to be so close when you were younger."

"Yeah, when we were _younger_. People change."

Before things got nasty, Auden took control of the situation.

"So, when do they start rolling in?" she asked, shutting her files. She had had her fill of snooping for now.

"Your father has arranged for Delia to make an appearance on The Report this Friday night to announce the Selected and then they should be moving into the palace the following Monday morning."

"That's quick!" Hayden said, her eyes bugging out of her head. "Lord, if I had known all that I would have stuck around to enjoy the last few days of silence."

"Since when has the palace ever been silent?" Auden teased, and the plane filled with laughter.

Situation successfully diffused.

.o.O.o.

They landed some hours later on a private air strip just outside of Lisbon. Auden expected that there would be chauffeur waiting to spirit her off to Sintra Palace in the heart of the city. However, when she deplaned and walked along the tarmac, luggage in tow, the chauffeur told her that there was different destination in mind. It turned out the royal family was currently lodged in Pena Palace in the mountains, and therefore she had yet another leg of journey ahead of her.

Auden had not been told about this. She had been told by a royal currier that she would be received at Sintra Palace, not Pena Palace. But that was fine. No need to fly off the handle. A palace was a palace no matter the location. She just hoped that her powder pink pantsuit and black heels could withstand the mountain terrain without making a fool of herself.

Hayden was more vocal about her displeasure at more travel. She was already jet lagged, and the added prospect of ruining her new pink Chanel skirt and jacket did nothing to improve her mood. Auden bit the inside of her cheek and tried not to lose her cool. As much as she loved her twin, Hayden could be beyond annoying at times, and this was one of them. Mom remained cool, but did not revisit her file folders, instead choosing to watch the scenery roll by out the window as they wound their way through the mountains.

They weren't really mountains, per say, more like large hills. The trees were starting to change colors, tips of the leaves starting to bronze in anticipation of autumn. Autumn was Auden's favorite season. Perhaps, if she were to stay in Pena Palace, she would learn to love it even more than if she were in the city. Even if this palace in the mountains seemed very far from civilization, nothing but the marvel of nature sprawling out around her. She hoped she would not grow bored. Perhaps Pena Palace had a large library she could sift through to occupy her time...

And then, atop a distant hill, she saw it.

"Whoa," Hayden gasped, now exceedingly interested in this trip, her body thrown across Auden's so that she could get a better look.

Whoa was right.

Pena Palace was a masterpiece. The exterior was colorfully splashed in yellows and reds and cool blues, gilded towers and domes shining in the afternoon sun, the architecture a testament to centuries long past. Even from far off, the structure was enormous, large enough to make Auden's jaw drop.

_Perhaps this was why the location was changed_, Auden thought. A show of power and wealth. Illéa may have had vast lands and a high population of subjects compared to Portugal, but Illéa had nothing to rival this.

"You think Dorian has a brother?" Hayden asked with a nonchalance that made Auden suspicious. At the prolonged silence, Hayden cast her head back, one brow arched as she took in Auden's skeptical look. "I'm just joking!"

Auden wasn't convinced. Or maybe she was. It was hard to believe Hayden these days when she was sneaking out as frequently as Delia. Hayden didn't know that Auden knew, and Auden was going to keep it that way. It wasn't Hayden's fault that Auden was a light sleeper, and Hayden was entitled to her own secrets, just as Auden was entitled to hers. Besides, Hayden had the room to herself now. No more need to sneak.

But that didn't stop the secrets from hurting. With so much distance between them, Auden wondered how many more secrets would accumulate between them. Would they be strangers the next time they met? Only time would tell...

The car wound up a private road headed by two men in suits, the first of many security stops. It was obscene, the amount of security patrolling the place. Auden had heard rumors that the current queen was the paranoid sort, but this was excessive.

Finally, they parked under a set of arches, the driver coming over to open their doors. Auden exited the vehicle, enjoying the crisp air on her face and the chance to stretch her legs. They were stood in the drive, a wide space that tapered off into an equally colorful walking path lined with white stone that led up to the palace. Up close, the palace was even more opulent, the structure shining bright and welcoming, showing off its proud history and upkeeping.

"This way, Your Highnesses," a member of the staff said, beckoning them up the path.

Auden led the way, feigning confidence as she journeyed forward. It was a bit of an incline to make it all the way to the top, her feet aching in her heels and a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead. Looking side to side was disorienting, as she could see just how high up they were, and the moat - they had a _moat!_ \- that lied far down below.

Eventually the path gave way to a courtyard. Inside this open-air courtyard, there were ways to access the yellow and blue parts. High-arching windows capped in white designs lined the exterior wall, giving a spectacular view of the hills and surrounding towns. And there was a grand stairway leading up to the main building of red brick. A grand stairway where a singular woman in black stood at the foot, surrounded by staff and guards.

Auden had done research on her family-to-be. Extensive research with a heavy focus on Queen Amantia herself.

Reading about the woman and seeing her in person were two completely different things.

Auden knew that the queen had a reputation for being reclusive, for being overly conservative, for wearing nothing but black since her husband's passing over a decade ago. What Auden did not know was how cold those blue eyes were, how austere the purse of those lips was, how many lines were carved into that pale skin despite being younger than her mother.

"Your Majesty, it is an honor to meet you."

Auden curtseyed as tradition dictated, and Queen Amantia was a woman of tradition. However, she didn't look impressed, her lips remaining in a firm line as she surveyed Auden from head to toe. Everything about Queen Amantia screamed displeasure, from the flare of her nostrils to the ram-rod straight quality of her spine.

"You must be her then: my son's future bride."

The queen's accent was thick, but understandable enough to hear the disapproval. Auden had no clue what the queen would have to disapprove of; she had agreed to the marriage contract months ago. She gave her blessing in the form of her official seal. Besides, Auden was brilliant, an A plus student who could play multiple instruments and speak multiple languages. She wasn't vain, but she knew she was pretty. Not as pretty as Hayden perhaps, but not unfortunate looking. What did Queen Amantia have to judge?

But maybe Auden was being too hard on the queen. It must be difficult, giving away her only son to a girl she had never met. Auden had no idea what Queen Amantia must be feeling, and tried to give her the benefit of the doubt.

"I am," Auden said, her head held high despite the scrutiny of those cold blue eyes. "I was hoping he would be here to meet us."

"Dorian is inside, focusing on his studies. He is a bright boy, my Dorian. He is afforded no distractions."

Auden tried not to flinch at the slight of being called a 'distraction'. Hayden bristled at it as well, but Auden discreetly held a hand to steady her sister's temper. Hayden was always so quick to rise where Auden could hold her tongue, play the long game. Instead, Auden put on her best smile and turned her steadying hand into an introductory one. It was clear that she was forging no ground with the prickly queen, so she stepped aside to put her family on display.

"I have brought my sister and my mother with me."

The queen gave them a cursory glance. "We were not expecting guests."

"Yes, but they wanted to see me off properly."

The queen said nothing, simply sliding her gaze from Auden to Hayden and Mom. Clearly, none of them were expecting such a stiff greeting, but it was always Mom who took things in stride. She put on her kindest smile and took control.

"Queen Amantia, we meet at last. I am surprised it has taken us this long to become acquainted. Being women in power is still such a rare thing these days."

"And yet, the number of queens rises by the year," Queen Amantia replied, a flash of a smile on her thin lips, though Auden was not so sure it was kind. The woman respectfully inclined her head to Mom. "Queen Finnley, a pleasure."

Not missing a beat, Hayden stepped up, ready to dazzle. "Hayden, Your Majesty. Auden's twin."

Hayden's curtsey was pure grace and sophistication but not enough to garner praise from the tough crowd. Queen Amantia hummed and nodded once, her eyes darting back down the drive to where her accompanying staff had lined themselves on the steps.

"You must forgive me, it has been so long since I've entertained guests," she said dryly, turning towards the palace. "Do come inside."

A clap of the queen's hands and the staff was rushing to grab their bags and heft them up the stairs.

_Oh great, more walking,_ Auden moaned internally, already feeling the pinch in her feet where blisters had started to form. She would need a long soak in the tub after this, that was for sure.

The interior of the palace was even more impressive than the exterior. The ceilings were masterpieces in their own right, decorated with frescoes and murals, inlaid with gold and carved in the most intricate patterns. No two halls were the same. Auden felt like she could wander for ages and still never notice every detail.

From behind her, Auden heard Hayden let out another 'wow'.

What an understatement.

Their gawking was cut short when the queen stopped at the end of the foyer. From where she stood under the crystal chandelier, the hallway split on either side, and there was also an ascending staircase to her right.

"Please, make yourselves comfortable," Queen Amantia instructed, though she herself was clearly still uncomfortable if the stiff set of her shoulders was any sign. "You must be exhausted from your travels. We shall discuss more important matters in the morning when everyone has settled. Dinner is served promptly as seven in the dining pavilion, breakfast at seven in the morning. Someone will be around to show you the way."

"Will you be joining us, Your Majesty?" Auden asked, confused.

"I take my meals alone," Queen Amantia replied shortly, tilting her chin further upward. "A member of the staff shall take you to your rooms. That is all. Good day."

Another curt nod of her head and the queen took off down the hall, not giving a single look back.

"What an odd woman," Mom remarked, Hayden silently agreeing.

It was early in the day to be dismissed, but Auden was grateful for it. After a long day of traveling, and after that tense introduction, she wasn't sure she was up to talking politics. Though her feet hurt and her mind was whirling with all the work she would have to do to make up for bad first impressions, Auden did not feel like retiring to her room either.

"Auden, you coming?" Hayden asked, already half way up the staircase. Mom was still moving after the butler, wasting no time.

"No, you go ahead. I'm going to take a look around."

"Suit yourself," Hayden shrugged and bounced up the steps, surely to claim the bathtub for the next four hours.

Perhaps Auden had gotten ahead of herself when she said she wanted to go exploring. The layout of this palace made little sense to her. The palace in Angeles was easy to navigate: the staircase was at the center, living spaces to the immediate left on each floor and rooms off on the wings. Easy peasy. This palace seemed to wind through sitting rooms, living rooms, dens, a whole manner of odd showcases, and so much more. Each one was as different and as extravagant as the next.

She wasn't even going to pretend she wasn't lost. But that was fine. This was to be her home now. She would have to learn her way around.

For a palace so large, it sure was empty. A place like this was meant to be filled to the brim, to hold family and friends and as many parties as there were days in the year. The palace in Angeles was only a fraction of the size, and it was always full of people, love, and laughter. Instead, these halls echoed under Auden's heels, not a soul in sight except for the occasional maid that scampered off as soon as Auden came near. It was like they were not allowed to be seen or heard, a silent task force.

She could not imagine growing up in a place like this, so quiet and lonely. What would that have made Dorian? Sheltered by his mother, held captive in a home high in the hills, no easy way to leave. What would he be like...?

Her travels emptied her out in another courtyard. This one was smaller than the others, surrounded on all sides by the arched walkways of the many floors of the palace, but still open air. It reminded her of the winter gardens in her own home, or the balconies that overlooked the library or the great dining hall. There was a fountain in the center, a fountain surrounded by greenery blooming with pink and red flowers that poured onto the blue stone ground. It was a beautiful sight to behold.

She stepped closer to admire the flowers, leaning in and smelling their sweet scent. This might just have been her favorite place in the palace so far. She sat on the edge of the fountain, staring at the petals rippling in the water, when she noticed another shadowy figure in the reflection.

The reflection of a man.

Auden snapped her head up, and there he was. Just around the curve of the fountain where she previously could not see was the man in the reflection. He must have been near her age, his head buried in a book, one leg propped up on the ledge as he read. He pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose, completely absorbed.

He had not seen her. Not yet. Not until her surprise had her stumbling, losing balance, and shouting her protest as she tried not to fall.

"Careful!" He warned, reaching out to balance her. But Auden was floundering too much, and she pulled too hard on his arm.

She pulled him forward off the edge and into the water. He fell in with a splash, sending some of the water slopping up over the side of the basin and on to the stone. It was not a deep fountain, just enough to reach his waist when he sat at the bottom. But he had fallen in sideways, half his button down clinging to his torso, his hair falling limp and wet across his forehead.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Auden apologized, mortified. She rushed over and stuck her hand in the fountain, fishing his glasses out. She dried them off on her jacket, the fabric be damed, and handed them back to him. He pushed his hair back and placed the glasses back on his nose. Despite being so rudely displaced, he was actually smiling at her.

"It is alright," he said, his voice kind and soft though thick with an accent. "This is my fault. I am very clumsy."

That was not the truth, not at all, but Auden was not going to argue when he offered her such a gracious out. Auden offered her hand and he accepted it as he climbed out of the fountain. Standing, he was very tall, somewhere over six feet, and thin as well. He patted himself down, as if to assure himself he was all in one piece. It was only after he checked his pockets that Auden realized he was looking for something.

Peering back into the fountain, Auden saw something else at the bottom: the book he had been reading before she scared him half to death. She reached in and fished that out as well, however there would be no saving the water-logged pages. She felt even worse.

"I'm sorry about your book," she apologized again, handing it over. He, however, did not look too concerned about the lost work. "I'm afraid this is not my day for first impressions."

"What do you mean?" he asked, cocking his head in the most adorable manner. And yes, adorable was the word to use when he looked like a wet puppy dog, floppy hair and wide brown eyes and all. "You are the most exciting thing that has happened to me all day."

Auden felt a blush burn through her cheeks, bright red and hot. Though that could be because their hands still lingered on each other's, as he had yet to take the book.

"You're her, aren't you?" he asked, still not moving his hand. "Auden."

"And you're him, Dorian."

His smile grew even wider, if that were possible. Auden had never seen someone look so happy to see her.

Perhaps she had nothing to worry about after all.


	6. The Thing About Selections: Part Two

A/N: Hellllllooooo fabulous readers! Here we have it - the Selection announcement! Now things can really kick off! Because it is official announcement time, that means that submission are officially closed, even to those who gave me partial forms or interest statements. I apologize that your creations will not be featured, but I hope you still find enjoyment in reading along. That said, I have five wonderful guys that we were briefly introduced to last chapter, and I cannot wait to explore them with you all!

I will be deleting Chapter 2 containing the submission form, so please do not be alarmed if the chapter numbers suddenly change! It's just accommodating the shift! Thank you all so much for your continued support and readership. Can't wait to hear what you think of Delia's introduction!

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The Thing About Selections: Part Two

The thing about Selections is that they suck.

That's it. They suck. Period. End of story.

What? Were you expecting waxed-on poetics and some sob story about watching sisters fall into sham relationships with abusive assholes ruining all hopes of future love? The others have that covered, the whiny little drama queens they are.

Besides, Delia wasn't having a Selection for love. Far from it.

Delia wasn't using her Selection to find a husband. She wasn't even using it to find a boyfriend. Nope. Delia needed this Selection to get _out_ of love. So it didn't matter to her if she was corrupting the institution of the Selection, that ridiculous relic of a sexist, oppressive regime from generations past. It didn't matter if no one took the Selection seriously ever again (and they shouldn't. Selections _suck_).

Of course, Delia couldn't say any of that on live TV.

The speech written on her notecards was definitely Elodie's work. It was written with so much unfailing optimism, full of the hope at finding something new and exiting in this 'great adventure', that Delia wanted to gag. No one wanted to hear the truth though, so blasting sunshine and rainbows up the public's asses was what Delia was stuck with.

Literally everyone in the studio was more excited about this Selection than she was. The camera crew, stage lighting, even the sound technicians looked thrilled to be there. Why was everyone so goddamn happy? Didn't they know that this entire set up was bullshit?

Midas Fadaye was buzzing in his seat while make up ladies chattered excitedly around him, helping him run his lines and bounce questions. Midas lived for the drama, and for love stories. He had been through two other Selections during his run, and no one thought there would be another for a very long time. Delia needed to start mentally preparing for Reports now, that way maybe she wouldn't look like she was dying every time she was asked a question.

Delia's grip on her notecards tightened, wrinkling the paper. Her head was killing her, her thoughts far too loud and far too bitter. Why did she decide to show up sober? She could really use a hit of something strong right now, anything to take the unbearable edge off.

"A penny for your thoughts?"

Delia looked up to see her father standing in front of her. He looked as professional as always: three piece suit and tie, salt and pepper hair slicked back, salt and pepper beard neatly trimmed. Delia had never seen him look anything less than put together. It was something she secretly envied, not that she would ever tell him.

"I thought that you were gonna deal with this?" Delia complained, knowing full well she sounded like a toddler but she could not be assed to care. How was she supposed to go up in front of a camera - the harsh studio lights making her head pound even harder - and announce that she was having a Selection when she was already convinced this was the worst mistake she had ever made? And that was saying something given her year's worth of bad decisions.

"This is your Selection, therefore this is your responsibility," Dad said with finality, letting Delia know that she was absolutely not going to get out of this one. This totally would not have happened if Mom were here. "There comes a time when we all have to do things we don't want to do. It's part of growing up."

"You don't think I'm a grown up?"

"Darling, I know you're not a grown up," Dad said, teasing in a way that only he could get away with. "That's not a bad thing. You deserve to enjoy being a teenager. When I was your age, I was dealing with traumas and responsibilities that I would not wish on anyone, not even my greatest enemy. You should enjoy this time. This is the time to make mistakes, to go out on a limb and try new things, have new experiences, do things you would not otherwise do."

"Dad, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that if you're having second thoughts about the Selection, then it's not too late to call it off. No one has been officially Selected; no one would get hurt. We could find something else to talk about tonight, go through our usual news and pretend like nothing happened," Dad proposed, and he made it sound so simple, so easy. Delia wanted to give in. "You have your whole life ahead of you to settle down. Don't feel like you have to to rush into marriage now."

_Oh, don't worry Dad, I have no intention of getting married,_ Delia wanted to say, the words on the tip of her tongue. But if she let him know her plans, there was no way he would let her go through with the Selection. Still, it hurt to lie to him. As much as she kept doing it, it still never got any easier.

Instead, Delia smiled at her father as best she could. Dad nodded and patted her denim-clad knee. She had been waiting for him to say something about her outfit of choice. Most girls, when announcing their plans to get engaged, dressed up or at least put effort into their appearance. Delia had decided to go with a more comfortable vibe: an oversized cream sweater, worn jeans, black combat boots, and her unwashed hair thrown up into a top knot. Dad was probably just grateful that she had shown up with most her skin covered.

"Think about it," Dad said, then headed over to greet Midas.

That was the problem: Delia had too much to think about these days. Her thoughts made her brain more congested than Heathrow at holiday time. The only thing that made them shut up was drugs. Drugs and a shit ton of alcohol.

Why, _oh why_, wasn't she drunk right now?

Delia leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and let the sounds of the stage crew on carry her far far away...

.o.O.o.

_The bar was fancy. Fancy because it was inside a country club somewhere north of London where the cheapest drink was fifteen pounds and the youngest man in the room was at least triple Delia's age. The women weren't too bad, but Delia wasn't really looking. No, she was busy trying to find one girl in particular._

_Found her, Delia sighed with relief as she made her way through the crowd, shouldering past a woman wearing what had to have once been a baby seal across her shoulders to get to the tall brunette with the pink butterfly barrettes._

_"Eeeek! So glad you could make it!" Poppy squealed, cutting off Delia's circulation as she pulled her into a hug. But then again, Poppy didn't know how to dial herself down. _

_Poppy DuChamp was always overly-excitably, overly-friendly, and overly-open with anyone who would lend an ear to her latest and greatest escapades. She had made it her life goal to be just as famous and rich as her father at half his age. When your father was the long-time live-in boyfriend to the Queen of British Empire, as well as a billionaire in his own right, that was a lofty goal. Delia never told Poppy that though. Better to let her dream._

_Right now, Poppy was on the war path to be Britain's next top model. She certainly had the body for it; she had been starving herself for months straight. Delia had heard about it in gruesome detail since the start. She hated what Poppy was doing to herself, but Poppy seemed pretty damn happy in her skimpy designer dresses hanging around her skimpy model friends._

_Speaking of, she had one of those model friends with her right now: a waif of a girl with a genuine enough smile. Delia didn't bother to put her face to memory. Poppy would have another new friend in a week. That was how Poppy worked. Everyone was expendable, except for Delia._

_"Delia, darling, this is my good friend Theodora Davies. We model together."_

_The waif smiled brighter, her cheeks flushing as she curtsied in her six inch heels. It was a miracle she didn't trip. _

_"Pleasure to meet you, Your Highness." Delia smiled kindly enough and __Theodora blushed fiercer. Then she turned to pull at the woman behind her with her back turned to them. "This is my sister, Artemisia."_

_Artemisia could not have been any different than her sister. Literally. Where Theodora was light and airy, Artemisia was made of earth: solid and grounding like a mountain, with a presence so large and commanding that she must have had her own orbit. It was the only way to explain why Delia felt the need to be closer her, to pay her more attention._

_Artemisia, however, like the mountain, was completely disinterested in what eveyrone around her was doing. Her smoky blue eyes traveled the room at a breakneck speed, as if to say 'anything is more interesting than being here with you'. Her dark hair was pulled up in a braided crown, with just the right amount of dishevelment that let anyone in the room know that she hadn't bothered to put much effort into it. Her button-down was also half-undone, showing the slip she wore underneath and just the right amount of cleavage while her jeans were on the skeptical side of clean. And then there was the skeptical looking bulge coming from the left hand pocket of her leather jacket..._

_"Misa! Did you - " Theodora hissed, her voice high-pitched and scandalized as she glared at her sister. "Did you bring a **gun** with you?"_

_"Didn't have time to drop by the flat," Artemisia replied with a shrug, leaning over to lovingly pinch Theodora's cheek. "I got off a plane from Cairo and ran straight here just for you."_

_Delia had a feeling that her appearance, gun and all, was a personal statement. She probably didn't give a fuck what anyone in this room thought._

_It only made Delia like her more._

_"Oh…my God! Is that Freya Jackson?" Poppy squealed, slapping Theodora's arm in violent excitement. "It is! And she's talking to Hale Garner!"_

_Delia had no idea who those two people were, but from the way Poppy and Theodora were spazzing out, they had to be important to the fashion world._

_"We have to go!" Theodora insisted, pulling on Poppy to follow._

_Poppy cast an apologetic look Delia's way. Delia already knew what was coming next._

_She sighed. "Yeah, go ahead."_

_"You really don't mind?"_

_"No, go do your thing."_

_"You're the best friend a girl could ever ask for!" Poppy cried, throwing her arms around Delia's neck and placing a smacking kiss to her cheek. "My soul mate, my lover for life, I owe you!"_

_It was all fluff and mindless sentiment. Poppy would have gone without Delia's blessing, but it was nice of her to act otherwise. Delia watched them scamper off as fast as they could in their ridiculous clothes. Delia hadn't made it in time to watch the actual show, so she had no idea what the theme for this lingerie-looking stuff even was, but it wasn't like Poppy had noticed. Sometimes having an airhead for a best friend had its perks._

_"Sorry about Poppy. She's…excitable," Delia apologized to Artemisia, though she hardly looked like she cared. She twirled her glass of amber liquor around her fingers, watching the vortex swirl perilously close to the edge. Delia tried again. "So, my best friend and your sister are friends?"_

_"It appears that way," Artemisia hummed in agreement, though her attention was far away from the girls falling over themselves in six inch heels. Now that it was just the two of them, Delia had the pleasure of full force of Artemisia's magnetic stare. It was enough to make even a grown man nervous. Delia swallowed, her pulse jumping as Artemisia extended her hand. "I'm afraid I missed introductions. You are?"_

_That was a new one. Usually people knew who Delia was the second she walked through the door. But Artemisia seemed like she genuinely wanted to know._

_"Do you really not - " Delia cut herself off, shaking her head and accepting Artemisia's hand. Her palm was warm and rough with callouses, so much different than all the soft politician's hands Delia was used to taking. But Delia didn't mind. In fact, she welcomed the change. "Cordelia Schreave. But everyone calls me Delia."_

_If alarm bells were going off in her head, Artemisia did not let it show. She kept herself cool as she replied, __"Artemisia Davies. But everyone calls me Misa."_

_"Ar-te-mis-i-a," Delia weighed each syllable on her tongue, rolling them over as she found the right rhythm. "I like it. Sounds exotic. Dangerous."_

_"Maybe I am, Cordelia," Misa purred, leaning in close enough for Delia to catch a whiff of spice and musk and a little bit of earth. But as appealing as she smelled and looked, Delia could not help but frown at the sound of her name. Misa noticed. "What's wrong?"_

_"Nothing, just - I don't like my full name. Always kinda hated it. I don't even know why I said it."_

_"Well, I like it," Misa said, the arch of her brow daring Delia to contradict her. "Cor-de-li-a. Sounds perfect to me."_

_Maybe, if everyone said it like Misa did, with just the right amount of intrigue and flair, Delia could like her full name after all._

_"I hate country clubs," Misa said abruptly, scanning the room with intense disapproval. Delia had to agree; country clubs really were the worst, most stuck up places. Misa leaned in even closer, her breath tickling Delia's face. "I know this is may sound forward to your refined ears, but would you like to get the fuck out of here?"_

_Forward or not, it was the best thing Delia had heard since arriving. She smiled._

_"Yeah. I would like that a lot."_

.o.O.o.

"YOUR HIGHNESS!"

Delia startled out of her memories. Damn. She hadn't even realized she had shut her eyes. And yet, there she was, careening forward off her chair, neck nearly snapping in violent force from waking herself up.

"Sorry," she mumbled, hand going to hold her pounding temple. She hated this part of coming down.

"As I was saying, we go on in five if Your Highness would be so kind as to take her mark," the sassy stage manager repeated, hands cocked on his hips, a frown on his lips. He could get over himself. He wasn't the star of this show, she was. People were going to tune in to see her: Cordelia Schreave, Princess of Illéa. He could take those dagger eyes elsewhere.

The guy stormed off, probably to bitch to Midas or whoever else was around to listen. People loved to shit talk her these days. It was all the rage.

Delia stood on uneasy legs and made her way on stage. She was acutely aware of the live audience watching her, of the reports silently, patiently waiting for her to make a spectacle. But she couldn't see them over the stage lights that washed everything out, she couldn't hear them over the ringing in her ears. Thankfully, someone passed her a couple ibuprofen and a glass of water. She gulped them down, thanking the kind soul who took pity on her. It was going to be a long hour; Delia could feel it in her bones.

Midas sauntered on stage to a few cheers and claps. Everyone adored Midas as they had adored his uncle, Gavril. Delia wondered what Fadaye would take over the Report once Midas retired, which would be soon if the growing amount of silvery-grey hair on Midas' head was any indication.

"Lovely to see you, Your Highness. Radiant as always," Midas greeted Delia with a smile bright enough to blind and an ostentatious bow. From anyone else, Midas' words would have been construed as sarcasm. But Midas had always been over the top.

"Awww you're such a liar," Delia replied snarkily, but Midas just let it roll off his back with a laugh.

"So feisty! I can see that these young men will have their work cut out for them."

"We're not on air yet, Midas. No need to pull out the charm."

"I'm always charming, Your Highness. It's who I am."

Delia rolled her eyes and turned back to the crowd she could not see while Midas let last-minute touch ups be done to his already-pristine face.

"Be nice to Midas. He's trying to make you shine."

Dad must have snuck on stage when she wasn't paying attention. She had almost forgotten that he had his part to play on the Report as well. The whole point of it was to update the country on the different goings on in the government. Most of the time, Delia just slept through it. A bad habit, sure, but she had worse.

"I don't want to shine," Delia protested quietly. "I just want to get this over with as quickly as possible."

"You need to get used to being in the spotlight, darling. It's only going to get worse from here."

Delia didn't have time to ask _what the fuck_ her Dad meant by that. The camera man started counting down from ten, letting everyone know there were just seconds until they were on the air. Cast and crew starting hustling off stage, Midas painted on his signature smile, and Dad sat up a little straighter. Delia just hoped she didn't look like she was going to pee her pants.

Red lights blinked on the cameras. They were live.

"Good evening Illéa and welcome to this week's edition of The Report! I'm your host, Midas Fadaye," Midas greeted with excessive enthusiasm. "Tonight we have a lot to cover! From the results of recent governoral elections to our relations overseas, our beloved king is here to catch up up to speed. And then, a special treat: Her Royal Highness, the Princess Cordelia Schreave, has a special announcement for all the eligible young bachelors of the land. All this and more when we come back. Stay tuned!"

The red lights blinked off, but they wouldn't stay that way for long. There would be two minutes max for the usual sponsored commercials to play before it was Dad's turn in the hot seat. And then it would be her turn.

Was it too late to run off sick?

Dad performed wonderfully, of course. He and Midas had both been doing this shtick together for thirty plus years with endless rapport to fall back on.

"So, I hear the royal palace will be entertaining the newly-elected Governor of Allens pretty soon?" Midas asked.

"Yes. The First Family of Allens should be arriving in Angeles tomorrow afternoon," Dad replied.

"And how are we feeling about this?"

"I'm very excited, yes," Dad said with a genuine smile. Everyone knew that he had been eagerly awaiting their arrival since Elodie announced it. "It's been a while since I last saw them. Mathis Reinhardt has become a very good friend over the years, and of course, I grew up with his wife, Josie. I haven't seen Jordan in quite some time, but he was always a bright young man; I'm looking forward to working with him."

"Can we expect Her Majesty the Queen to be there for the welcome celebrations?"

"Unfortunately Finnley will still be out of the country. She's over in Portugal with Hayden, seeing Auden off."

"Ah yes, the arranged marriage," Midas said with renewed interest, leaning forward in his seat. "Very shocking, at least I know I was shocked when I heard the news. How has the royal family been adjusting to this new development?"

"It was a shock to me as well, Midas. Don't feel alone in that," Dad assured, getting a laugh out of Midas.

"You make it sound like Her Highness called all the shots."

"Oh, she did," Dad said with a chuckle and a shake of his head, like he still couldn't quite believe it. "From a young age, Auden always knew what she wanted, and she went after it. I tell Finnley all the time that if I had half her decision making abilities then I would be able to get so much more done."

"You do a wonderful job, Your Majesty. Does he not?" Midas asked to the crowd, who gave roars of applause in return.

Dad actually looked bashful, waving away the praise. "I guess what I am trying to say is that if this is what Auden wants, then she knows it is what is best for her. She's an adult who is more than capable of standing on her own two legs. And while I will greatly miss having her around all the time, I know that she is on her way to doing great things. I can only hope that the Royal Family of Portugal will open their arms to her and see her as the incredible young lady I know her to be."

"Have you ever met these royals?"

"No, I have not, but I have heard nothing but good things about Queen Amantia and how she runs her nation. I'm sure her son is just the same. Auden would not have picked someone she would not have gotten on well with."

"Does that make you nervous?"

Dad arched an eyebrow, teasing, "Should I be nervous, Midas? Do you know something I don't?"

The audience laughed without prompting, and this time it was Midas who waved the laughter away.

"Regardless, we wish our princess all the luck in the world."

"Hayden actually has a message she wanted me to share with you, if that's alright?"

"Of course! Do you mind if we put it on the big screen?"

The screen behind them lit up, the pixelating display sharpening to reveal Hayden standing on a balcony overlooking some mountain. It was a beautiful sight to behold...if there was much of it shown. In typical Hayden fashion, she had chosen to take up most of the screen with her body, showcasing her latest outfit that no one cared about.

Hayden blathered on about the view from her window and how _awesome_ Portugal was and how much fun she was having. The bland run down of how_ fabulous_ her jet setting life was like and oh didn't everyone _wish_ they could be her? There was nothing about Auden or her prince or how things were really going, just well wishes and exchanges of 'I love yous' at the end.

"Oh, how sweet!" Midas cooed when it was over, clapping his hands together. "You really do have the sweetest girls."

"I am very blessed," Dad agreed. Were his eyes..._misty_? There was way too much touchy-feely nonsense going on. Delia was going to puke.

"Speaking of sweet girls, it is an honor to have you on our set tonight, Your Highness."

It took Delia a second to realize that Midas was talking to her now, not her father.

"Yeah. Glad to be here, Midas," Delia said as nicely as she could.

"Now, your father told me that you have something important to announce, is that right?"

"That's right," Delia replied, hoping her smile didn't come off as a wince. Her heart rate spiked as she realized that the cameras were now zoomed in on her and not her father. It had been so easy to do this when she was the invisible one on the couch. Now, all eyes were on her: her father's, Midas', the audience's, and the entire nation's.

"Don't be shy! Everyone wants to know what Princess Cordelia Schreave has to say!"

This time, she did wince. _Cordelia_. Four harsh syllables said with far too much enthusiasm. Wrong. Completely wrong. No one said it right. No one said it like -

"Well, we're waiting!"

How long had Delia been stalling? How long had she been staring at the notecards in her hand like a complete idiot? How long had she been frozen on camera? How long had Midas been feigning patience with that overly-cheerful smile?

Why did she fuck everything up?

A hand on her shoulder grounded her. Delia looked to see her father with nothing but support in his eyes. His words from earlier came back to her. _It's not too late to call it off._

"I wanted to tell everyone that I've picked my Selected," Delia found the courage to say, still looking at Dad instead of the camera. If he was disappointed in her choice, he didn't let her know. He just kept his hand where it was and smiled at her, encouraging like he was her whole life...even when she didn't deserve it. Oh, if he really knew why she wanted this Selection...he would be disappointed beyond belief.

"Have you really?" Midas exclaimed, enthusiasm bursting forth as if this was the first he'd heard of it even though he already knew what she was going to say. "Do tell more!"

"Um...well...it seems like a real diverse group of guys. Lots of different things to choose from - all good. I think this will really, um, expand my horizons..." Delia rambled. Why didn't she just look at her note cards? Dad cleared his throat, and then she remembered, "Oh! And I'm really excited to meet them all. The royal couriers will go door to door to alert the Selected this evening and bring them all to the palace by Monday."

"Sounds like things are really picking up," Midas said, salvaging what he could from that train wreck. "Do you think you're ready for such a huge change?"

Delia felt Dad's hand on her shoulder tense. If she were looking at his face, she would no doubt see the start of disapproval. If he were to look at her face, he would begin to see the start of irritation.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Just that, with a Selection comes a vast amount of change. You'll be going from just you and your family living in the palace to sharing that space with thirty five young men."

That was not what Midas meant at all, but Delia played along. Maybe, if she answered this question well enough, he wouldn't continue down the path she could feel him leading her toward.

"I did it once before with Elodie's Selection. I think I can handle this one. Plus, Kase makes enough mess for ten men so I think I've gotten my practice in."

That made the audience laugh. Maybe she was doing something right after all.

"Yes, that's something," Midas laughed along. "But then there is the shift, going from a teenager to a young royal in a committed relationship. Do you think you'll find any obstacles along your journey from point A to point B?"

There it was. Delia had been holding her breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Foolish her, she thought that maybe this time she would get to escape questions like these, questions that only painted her in a negative light. No one cared about her, or her feelings, or what she wanted. They only wanted to hear about the drama, about the vices, about if she was going to keep making headlines for more than just Selection-related reasons.

They didn't know what she had been through. They had no right to judge her, the bastards.

Delia hated all of them. They could go to hell.

"By obstacles, you mean will I still be going out drinking and smoking and partying?" Delia cut to the chase, her smile now more venomous than sincere.

Midas, not expecting to be called out, got red in the face with embarrassment. "Well, not to be crude - "

"I don't plan to change who I am for any man, Midas," Delia cut him off, hearing the pitch rise in her voice as anger took over. "I am who I am, and anyone who doesn't like that can suck a dick."

There was a crippling three seconds of silence where everyone, including Delia, thought '_did she really just say that on live TV'?_ But once those three seconds were up, Delia was flying up off the couch and storming off the stage. She ripped off her mic and threw it at the nearest wide-eyed stage crewman.

There. They had their spectacle.

From the wings, she could hear Midas laugh awkwardly, "Let's roll to the slideshow of contenders, shall we?"

She should've known better. She should have fucking _known better_.

Selections, no matter how they're used, suck. Delia was stupid to think that this one would be any different.


	7. The Thing About Paris

A/N: Sorry for the long time since an update. Life has been super crazy! Plus it's hard to find time to write working a full time job, but I've got bits and pieces hammered out for the next few so hopefully I'll get on a roll. I can hope. A lot of this chapter was written to me listening to Watermelon Sugar by Harry Styles and Paris by Magic Man. Thank you all for being so patient. I promise the guys will start showing up soon, but there's more moving sibling parts to get through first. Hope you enjoy!

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The Thing About Paris

The thing about Paris, was that it felt like home. Even more than Illéa did at some points. Most points. All points.

Kase didn't know when he started escaping to Paris, just that one day he woke up with an overwhelming sense to flee and followed it all the way to France. Uncle Ahren and Aunt Camille were very surprised to find him on their doorstep. Gen was even more confused when she realized that he was there unattended and without legitimate reason. But ever since that trip, Kase had found himself habitually running back to Paris, not for the food or the sights or the revelry, but for the people.

Okay, maybe just two people in particular. And the revelry. Could you really blame him though? Not even a saint could avoid the Paris nightlife, and Kase was hardly that.

There wouldn't be much of a nightlife tonight, not with grey clouds letting out a persistent drizzle. Kase watched the droplets of water streak across the jet window, staining the tarmac even darker as it soaked into the cracks._ It's going to be fun walking through this_, Kase thought, trying to spot his ride through the mist. The perk of having a private air strip was so not to be delayed by other travelers. However, the downfall of having a private air strip was the lack of an indoor terminal should the weather provide inclement. Kase hoped it wouldn't be like this his whole trip, however long that panned out to be. He hadn't decided yet. Usually these jaunts lasted a couple days to a couple of weeks. One time he stayed for a whole two months, though everyone was sick of each other and ready to fight by the end of it.

The jet landed and the fasten seat belt light flipped off. The first thing Kase did was switch his phone back on. Numerous notifications, tagged posts, and one text from Hayden saying, "_don't forget my Chanel! xo,_" pinged across his screen before he pocketed the device. Kase didn't even know why he checked it. It wasn't like anyone important was going to call him. It wasn't like Drina was going to forgive him out of the blue. She had probably blocked his number, unfriended him on all her platforms, burned that stuffed bear he had won for her at the Angeles Province Fair. He tried to make himself believe that her radio silence didn't bother him, that he was okay letting her have her space, but that was a lie. It was eating him up, tearing his insides and making him sick. He tried to push it down, but this pain was like venom, making him mean(er than he already was).

But that was all in Illéa. He was in Paris now. Everything was going to be better now.

The pilot opened the exit and lowered the stairs, letting the cool, wet air into the plane. A chill ran down Kase's spine. Time to go.

He took the stairs two by two, eager to get out of the inclement weather. Flight staff scurried to move his bags from the cargo hold, not that there was much to de-plane. Just a duffle and a suitcase or two. He never knew how much or how little he needed, so he always packed it all to be safe.

Kase was lying before. There were more than just two people he loved to see when he came to Paris. One of those few stood in front of a black limousine, dark skin and hair blending into a black suit pressed crisp with lines made to cut. The man didn't smile, he didn't even blink, but Kase had been around him long enough to know not to be intimidated.

"Henri, my man!"

Kase extended a fist in front of Henri's face. Henri looked at with mild disdain, wondering whether or not it was worth suffering the blow to his pride, before completing the bump. The force Henri put behind his fist was nothing to joke at. Even when delivered in a friendly gesture, Kase's knuckles throbbed when he pulled back.

Henri said nothing as he opened the car door. Usually that was a chauffeur's job, but it was just Henri to pick Kase up today - there wasn't even any paparazzi, which was weird. But Kase didn't think about that too much. He slid in the backseat of the limousine while Henri walked around to get in the driver's side.

"So, how's the family?"

"Fine." That was all Kase was going to get unless he pried, but there was a smile on Henri's lips - so quick he almost missed it. "Manon will be glad to know you're back in town."

Manon was Henri's seven year old eternal ball of energy of a daughter. She spent most of her days running circles around Versailles and generally making a mess of perfectly neat spaces, which tested the limits of the reserved and controlled Henri's patience. Henri's wife, Elyan, was much better at dealing with their daughter's tornado-like tendencies, claiming all her years holding back Gen's hair while she puked prepared her for having a child this rambunctious. But neither of them could corral Manon like Kase could. She had been drawn to him since she was a toddler, finding companionship in a fellow storm. Kase just wished his storms were full of light and laughter like hers, instead of doom and gloom.

"And you? Are you glad that I'm back in town?" Kase teased, knowing that he got on Henri's nerves more often than not...not that the Head of Royal Security would ever voice a word of this to his queen and employer.

Henri hummed noncommittally, ever the man of few words.

The rest of the car ride was spent in mutual silence. Which was fine. Henri did his driving thing and Kase played games on his phone. The ride from the airstrip to Versailles was a short one anyway. Kase was only four moves into a game of Candy Count when the engine cut off, the grand front entrance of the palace spread out before him.

Staff ran down the steps, umbrellas in hand, to unload the car. Kase gave them space, taking refuge under Henri's proffered umbrella as the two ascended the stairs.

"They're in the sitting room," Henri said, leaving Kase to his own devices.

There was a time when Kase first started coming to Paris that Henri would follow Kase closely at the heels, making sure that Kase never left his line of sight, always the diligent bodyguard. Now, Henri didn't care where Kase went. Probably because there was no part of the palace Henri hadn't pulled a drunk and belligerent Kase from. Besides, Henri had better thing to do than babysit Kase, and Kase definitely did not need nor want a babysitter.

Kase knew the route to the sitting room by heart. He knew all the routes to everywhere by heart. He could probably navigate Versailles blindfolded.

True to Henri's word, the Queens of France were found in the sitting room sat across from each other, occupying their own sofas: Neelam's covered in swatches of color fabrics and Gen's empty save for the pile of manilla folders to her right. Both were absorbed in their own thing, in two separate words save for the hands they laid over the rests, the tips of their fingers barely brushing across the space.

Gen was the first to notice him, spying him over the edge of whatever document she was reading, her lips curling into a smile. She had bobbed her hair sometime since he last saw her, and she had to bat the edges away so that she could get a better look.

"Well well well, look what the cat dragged in."

Kase barely had time to react before he had the wind knocked out of him. Literally. By a screaming Neelam running at him and tackling him to the ground. Gen made no move to help him, watching with vague amusement as Neelam smothered Kase to death.

"Good to see you too Neels," Kase gasped, trying to push her off before she broke his ribs.

"I've missed you so much!" Neelam pulled Kase up and into a hug. For someone who stood a head shorter than him, Neelam had surprising strength.

Gen cocked her head, frowning at the display. "Why don't you ever greet me like that?"

Neelam detached her octopus limbs from Kase, still beaming as she turned to her wife and leaned seductively over the coffee table. "Because I see you every day." Her fingers walked over the deep mahogany, trailing up Gen's arm. "But I'm sure something can be arranged_.._."

"You would think after being together for so long, you wouldn't be this disgustingly sappy," Kase groaned. He did not come all the way to Paris for this.

"White people, they've rubbed off on me." Neelam shrugged her shoulders.

Kase pointedly avoided the innuendo. He would not feed that beast. Not today.

"Don't be a jealous hater." Gen pulled away and fixed the sleeve of her powder pink suit jacket. "I'm sure you and Alexandrina do plenty of disgustingly sappy things."

"Nope. Not anymore." Both queens gave Kase a confused look. Kase did not want to talk about this; he would literally do anything else. But it was better to rip off the bandaid now instead of when the tabloids found out. "We broke up. A couple days ago, actually."

"Christ," Gen swore, but she did not look surprised. "That explains it. What did you do this time?"

"Why is it always my fault?"

"It's always your fault."

Damn. That was cold. But Neelam looked unapologetic, and Kase couldn't fault her for saying it. She had a point. It always his fault for their break ups, just like it was always his fault for their eventual make ups.

Kase sighed and ruffled his hair. He was going to get so much shit for this. "I may have...possibly...forgotten her birthday."

For a while, both queens were quiet. Gen even looked a bit murderous. But it was Neelam who spoke.

"If Gen ever forgot my birthday, I would ask for a divorce."

Gen reared back, offended. "Thanks, babe."

"I'm being honest. Honesty is the best policy." Gen shook her head. It was just Neelam being Neelam. There was no need to take her seriously...most of the time. "In the spirit of honesty, I am glad that Alexandrina kicked your ass to the curb."

"She didn't kick me to the curb...per say." Kase kicked at the carpet, feeling more and more embarrassed the longer he sat under Neelam's scrutinizing gaze. " More like her brother picked up her phone and threatened me in the vague way Russians do when they're pissed."

"Well, I'm glad you chose to jet here instead of show up at Constantine's front doorstep." Gen sighed, scrubbing her face. Maybe Kase was imagining it, but he thought he had just given Gen her first grey hairs. "The last thing anyone needs right now is World War V."

"You sound just like my Dad." Kase tried not to sound bitter, and failed. He shouldn't be mad at Gen. She was only trying to help. But he couldn't stop the resentment bubbling in his chest, smarting at the weight of all his failures. "The reason I came was to get _away_ from all that bullshit."

"What makes you think that we want your bullshit?" Gen asked with just enough bite to make Kase really consider if she was joking or not. He knew it must have been a lot to deal with his comings and goings. The last thing he wanted to be was a burden to anyone. He had tried so hard his whole fucking life not to be a burden, but he kept failing... Gen stepped forward and took his hands in her her own, squeezing. "We love you, Kasey, but you're a hot mess."

Kase laughed. "Yeah, I know."

"That would have been a banging caption," Neelam lamented, true disappointment on her face as Kase realized what she was talking about: the instagraph page.

"Don't think for a second I didn't see that pic you posted of me." Kase's teasing tone completely betrayed his intention of a threat. He was grateful for the change of conversation. He didn't think he could stand hashing out his misgivings for any longer without completely losing his shit. "My revenge will be sweet."

Gen hardly looked troubled. "I doubt you'll have time for revenge. Since you'll be here for a while, we're going to put you to work."

"Seriously? I was thinking I'd just lie low, watch some movies, eat a few crepes, maybe go out with a few models?"

"I don't think running around town with _models_ is the best way to show Alexandrina you're sorry."

"No, but it would improve my mood more than working whatever crazy thing you're about to push me into."

"Kase, you're here so much you might as well pay rent. I figured this was the best alternative." Gen rolled her eyes, laughing like she had made a particularly funny joke. Then, her phone went off. She looked at it and then to Neelam. "I have to take this. He's all yours babe."

The couple traded kisses and 'I love yous' - a nauseating show that made Kase want to gag - before Gen walked out the room towards whatever last-minute meeting she needed to attend.

That left Kase with one very excited Neelam.

"Oh, you're gonna love it!" Neelam clapped her hands, making her bracelets jingle. Kase had a feeling that he was not going to love this at all. "My dance academy for the orphaned children of Paris is putting on its annual autumnal recital in a couple weeks, and I am in desperate need of a photographer. Everything else has come together - well, almost everything. I've had a hell of a time deciding on costume design - all these options are making my head swim - and set design, and which brand of make up to use that is both eco-friendly and ethically sourced, and - "

Kase held out a hand before Neelam got too far ahead of herself. He was still trying to wrap his head around his part in this chaos. He could not have heard her correctly.

"Let me get this straight. You want me to take pictures of a bunch of six-year-old ballerinas in tutus?"

"I know it's not as exciting as models, but give it a chance. Pleeeeaaaasssseeeee," Neelam pleaded, her dark eyes wide and puppy-like.

"Fine. Whatever, I'll do it." As if he could ever say no to Neelam. Kase may have acted like it was a hardship, but he would help Neelam with just about anything, guillotines included.

Neelam leaned up and placed a kiss to Kase's cheek. No matter how many years passed them by, Kase's face never failed to flush pink at the gesture.

"Practice starts at eight sharp tomorrow morning. I'll be waiting for you in the main foyer at seven."

"Are you for real?"

"Perfection doesn't just happen. You have to work for it!"

Kase tipped his head back and groaned.

"You're such a baby, honestly." Neelam laughed and smacked at his chest. "Go and get some beauty rest. All your stuff is exactly where you left it."

"Thanks Neels."

Kase knew a dismissal when he heard one. They parted ways, Neelam returning to her swatches and Kase heading towards his room. The halls were second nature to Kase now, as familiar as the ones in Illéa. He dared even say that Versailles felt more familiar, more welcoming. Even the staff knew his face, and not from magazines and family photographs like they recognized all the others. He waved and said hello to all the usual faces, their expressions ranging from shock to pleasant surprise.

His room was at the end of the guest hall: a whole suite with all the royal fixings. Only the best for the only son of the King of Illéa.

Kase shut the door behind him, leaving him alone in the wide open space.

Neelam wasn't kidding when she said everything was where he had left it. Not a single thing had been touched, down to the knick knacks on his bedside table to the clothes he had wadded up and thrown in the corner. However, his bed was freshly made, a basket of fruit sat on a coffee table, and there were flowers in a vase that were too alive to have been there long. A welcome basket, perhaps? Or a gift meant to guilt him into doing Neelam's dirty work. His guess was on the latter.

His suitcases had already been unpacked and stored somewhere else in the palace, shirts and pants and everything else folded neatly inside the chest of drawers. Kase pulled out a pair of comfy plaid pajama pants and put them on, his clothes covered in airplane and travel germs. They joined the growing pile in the corner. One day he would find a hamper, but today was not that day.

Kase took a turn round his room. It had been a couple of months since had had been there, but it still felt like home, more so than Illéa did. Maybe it was because there were no cracks in these walls, no testaments to his outbursts, no reasons for him to manifest his pain. The walls were smooth and a soothing blue color, the moulding a stark white and the windows draped with delicate linens.

Except for the far back wall. That was was covered in photographs.

It was more of a pet project, meant for Kase's eyes and Kase's eyes alone. There were all kinds of photographs, old and new, made from digital prints and polaroids. The result, all carefully tacked to the wall, was a mural of some of the happiest moments of his life. The wall made him smile. The wall made him sad. Strange how it could do both at the same time.

The closest photo to eye-level was recent - only a year or two old. It was of him and Alexandrina. They had held a photoshoot in the gardens of Le Petit Trianon the one and only time he convinced her to meet him in Paris. She sat high in a tree, like a princess in a tower, with Kase looking up at her, completely in love. And he was. He was so in love with Drina. Looking at the photo, Kase could almost hear her laughter, could almost feel the sun on his face, could realize now how that day was the last he remembered with her as being golden.

He took the photo down and shoved it into the desk drawer.

Inside the drawer, there was another unexpected surprise: his grandfather's polaroid.

Smiling, Kase picked up the old camera, careful not to damage it. Kase had thought he had lost the damned thing. Figures he would have kept his prized possession here instead of risking damaging it back in Illéa. He was only ever inspired to photograph anything in Paris anyway.

For a moment, he considered using this camera for Neelam's recital, but decided against it. He wasn't going to waste his spare polaroid paper on tiny ballerinas who would not sit still. He didn't know what he was waiting to use it on, but that was not it.

Kase put the camera back where he found it, shut the drawer on Drina's smiling face, and went to bed.


	8. The Thing About Best Friends

A/N: Two more chapters until we meet our first Selected face to face! Three more chapters until formal introductions! I know the exposition for this story has been crazy excessive, but this is an even bigger, more complex project than TBaH, so it's gonna take me a while to hammer out all the pieces before things pick up. Thank you for being so patient. I promise there is an actual Selection amongst all this!

* * *

The Thing About Best Friends

Elodie had been watching the train wreck when it happened, looking on in silent horror from the opposite wing of the stage as her sister ran off set. Panic alarms went off the moment "suck a dick" aired on live TV. She had been doing non stop damage control since.

She had not slept. She had not eaten. A cold cup of coffee, Elodie's fourth that morning, sat on the edge of her desk as she ran yet another report. Janus purred happily in her lap, napping the morning away without a care in the world. Oh, how Elodie wished to be a cat, to not have to worry about what anyone thought because cats were always adorable and universally loved. Cats didn't have to fight tooth and nail for acceptance and affection from people...from those they loved most.

Now, Elodie was just projecting. She needed to stop that, or she would end up dripping mascara on her papers.

A sharp knock on the door gave way to her assistant. It was still the same girl, stilettos and all, though her smile had lost some (most) of its luster. She looked like she had gotten as much sleep as Elodie had, i.e none. Elodie praised her silently for lasting this long. She really should learn the assistant's name, but it was still too early to tell if she'd make it to next week.

"The King is ready for you."

Elodie nodded and her assistant backed out the office with a slight limp. Elodie caught a glimpse of blistered, bloody heels. She knew those shoes wouldn't amount to anything good, not that Elodie did any better in her patent leather pumps. At least her shoes had orthopedic insoles. She wasn't that big of a newbie.

Gathering up her stuff and gently placing Janus in his extra plush bed, Elodie walked across the hall and into her father's office, ready to tackle the day.

The King of Illéa seemed just as deeply entrenched in his work as Elodie had been in hers, his head bent over a large volume of papers that littered his desk. Normally the desk was clean and orderly. Now, it was pure chaos.

"You've seen The Report?" he asked, looking up as Elodie approached. He gave her a grateful smile as she handed over a cup of coffee. That was something else they had in common: caffeine addiction. They would never kick it the way that they both fed it to each other, mercilessly.

"I have. My phone has been blowing up all morning," Elodie replied, trying not to sound too irate. It wasn't her father's fault Delia decided to make another spectacle of herself and drag the family through the mud. "You should have let me handle it."

"Delia was on air, with me. This is my responsibility," Dad said tiredly, his own dark circles giving him away. Yet, he still had the audacity to ask, "Have you slept at all Katy Kat?"

Elodie smiled at her childhood nick name as best she could. She would be fifty and her father would still see her as a little girl. "I'm fine. I still think I could - "

"I said that this is my responsibility."

The hurt was irrational. He didn't mean anything by shutting her down. Still, sleep deprived and strung out, Elodie couldn't stop the hurt that came at the heels of failure no matter how hard she fought it. "You don't think I can handle it?"

"I know you can handle anything," Dad said with a certainty Elodie did not doubt. "But it's not your job to handle_ everything_. You don't have to take on the whole world by yourself."

"And neither do you."

"Touché. But I don't want you worrying about that. The whole mess will blow over in a couple days when the Selected start showing up at the palace gates and the press will have something new to latch onto." Dad was taking this far too lightly, in Elodie's opinion, but she did not want to fight with him first thing in the morning. "What we should be focusing on is the reception for the First Family of Allens."

Elodie nearly dropped her coffee mug.

The thing about best friends was that she had such a terrible time remembering she had one. She completely forgot Jordan was coming. Had time really gone by that quickly?

"When are they scheduled to get in?"

"Later today. I was planning on having a small dinner. Family only. How does that sound?"

"Sounds wonderful," Elodie said, and meant it. She was afraid Dad would want to make a spectacle out of Josie's return and invite half of the country. "I'll let my assistant know to clear my schedule."

"How is that I'm king and I don't have an assistant?"

"Because you have me."

Elodie placed her hand over her Dad's, giving it a squeeze. He smiled.

"Well, thank God for that. Otherwise, I'm sure I'd have drowned by now."

"I don't think so. You're the best king Illéa's ever had."

Dad reached up and covered Elodie's hand with his other. He didn't say anything in reply; he didn't have to. The creases in his brow spoke enough to his self-deprecating nature. No matter how many years he sat on the throne, he always found ways to doubt his abilities. Elodie knew it had to do with the traumas he endured early on in his reign, not even out of his teenage years and so easily manipulated by those he relied on. That was part of the reason he refused to retire. _Not until I kick the bucket_, is what he usually said with that wide, knowing smile. He was protecting Elodie. She knew that. If only he would let her protect him sometimes.

"Help an old man pick his tie, would you?" Dad said, getting up from his desk to stand where a different, more formal suit hung on the back of a bookshelf. There were two options: one with blue stripes and another a solid purple. "Usually your mother has opinions about these things, but seeing as though she's halfway across the world, your'e next best thing."

"The purple, for sure." Elodie pulled the blue one down for good measure, just so he didn't pick it out of deference. "And you're hardly old, you drama queen."

"I've got more years behind me than ahead of me. That counts as old in my book."

"You've got plenty of years left, _old man_."

Dad rolled his eyes and pulled at his cufflinks. For as long as Elodie remembered, he had always done that._ Nervous habit_, he said. And then his hands would stop for a second and his eyes would go far away. Elodie never knew where he went in those seconds before he finally let his cuffs go. He never told her that part.

"Now, what about that husband of yours. I was hoping to have the whole family for dinner."

The truth was, Elodie had no idea where Felix was. He hadn't come to bed last night, and she woke up before he got back from wherever the hell he ended up. She had been in the office or around the palace the whole day and not once had she even caught word of his arrival. He could have been dead in a ditch somewhere. Elodie thought that the idea should scare her more, should eat her up inside with fear for her husband's wellbeing. But all that was left was a pit of ice cold realization that Felix cared so little for she and their daughter that he could not be bothered to let her know where he was.

Of course, Dad couldn't know any of that. He was under the assumption that everything was sunshine and roses. So Elodie plastered on a smile and pulled the first lie that came out of her ass.

"He may have to work. I'm not sure yet, but I will let him know how important it is he comes."

"He works more than the both of us combined these days." Dad huffed, but he didn't question the excuse. No one valued a good work ethic more than Kaden Schreave. Which was why it always sure to stick. "This is what? The fifth family dinner he's missed?"

"He feels terribly about it." Elodie was sure Felix didn't even know he was missing something, that was how little he cared. Her stomach turned at all the lies she was telling, but she told herself that it was better than the shame that would come with the truth.

"Well, we will miss him."

Elodie wouldn't. But she couldn't tell her father that either.

* * *

Six hours and six more cups of coffee later, Elodie stood in the main foyer of the palace, a ball of nerves.

Jordan was coming.

He would be here any second, and all Elodie could wonder was if the off-the-shoulder red velvet evening dress was too bold a choice for dinner with her best friend and his family. It was too much. Right? Too formal. What the hell was she thinking! The only saving grace was that Dad was wearing his dressed-up suit and Essie was wearing a dress too...though it was much more acceptable for six year old girls to prance about in extravagant formalwear than twenty-eight year old mothers.

Not that Elodie was too old to dress up. No, she knew she married and had children young, that most women her age were just beginning their careers and adopting first pets after obtaining university degrees and accumulating a decade's long string of boyfriends. Elodie never had the option to do things at that speed. Elodie never had the option to be anything other than the kind of woman who wore red velvet evening gowns on weeknights to state dinners.

She used to dress up for Felix. There was a time when he would see her in something like this and wouldn't let her out the room without peeling it off her body. Now, he was an empty space at her side, too busy undressing a girl whose body had never borne a child and preferred leather to velvet.

At Elodie's other side, Essie swayed on her toes, butterfly Mary Janes gleaming blue as she clicked her heels together. She had picked those shoes out all by herself, begging Elodie to get them for her. Essie rarely begged for anything. Elodie had purchased them immediately, and then gotten a tiara commissioned to match. The tiara was missing from Essie's ensemble, her brown curls wild and untamed even though Elodie had ran the comb through them twice before heading to the hall.

Essie was nervous. She didn't particularly like new people. As happy and carefree as she was around her family, she could be terribly shy around guests. Elodie didn't want her to worry, though. She wanted Essie to like Jordan. More than that, she wanted Essie to _love_ Jordan...and the rest of the Reinhardts, obviously.

There was no more time to dwell on nerves.

The doors opened, a butler announcing the arrival of Governor Jordan Reinhardt of Allens, accompanied by Mr Mathis and Mrs Josie Reinhardt.

It was such a formal, pompous introduction that Elodie laughed out of sheer shock. Never before had Jordan been announced before his parents, and from what Elodie could spot on the look on Jordan's face, he was just as baffled.

Oh, how she had missed that face!

Had it really been seven years? As soon as he stepped into her space, all dimples and warm brown eyes, scooping her into a tight hug, it felt like no time had passed at all. Sure, he was a little taller, a little more filled out around the edges, and Elodie wouldn't even begin to indulge in the thoughts of how good he looked in a bespoke suit. But he was still warm, still smelled like the same cologne he got for his sixteenth birthday, and his arms around her were tight enough that she knew he would not let her go until she pulled away first.

They must have been hugging for a bit too long, as a throat cleared to get their attention. Elodie pulled back immediately, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. She didn't even dare look at Jordan for fear of what her face might do to betray her next.

"Sorry," she muttered, clearing her own throat - why had it gone dry? She put her attentions on a very perplexed Mathis and a very amused Josie.

"Do we all get hugs like that?" Miss Josie teased, pulling Elodie to her.

"They haven't seen each other in seven years, Josie," Dad said, and Elodie had never been more grateful to have him in her corner. "I didn't see you for seven weeks and I don't think I let you go for hours."

"I had been kidnapped and imprisoned in a foreign country_, Kaden_. That's completely different." Miss Josie pointed out, letting Elodie go so that she could see her face and all the laughter lines. "I'm just teasing. It has been too long. Look at you! So gorgeous!" Then, she spun on Dad, eyeing him up and down. "Ow! Ow! Looking good."

Dad went red in the face, awkwardly rubbing a hand on the back of his neck while Mathis just laughed to himself. Both Dad and Josie continued on with whatever little song and dance they had established over the last fifty years, and Mathis gracefully bowed out.

Mathis pulled Elodie into a hug, the last one of the bunch but still just as warm and welcoming. He didn't say much, that Mathis, but what he did not say, he could convey. That made him a good match for someone as loud-mouthed as Josie, and Elodie meant that in the nicest way possible, for Miss Josie both liked to talk and spoke at a loud volume.

With Mathis ever silent, Elodie allowed herself to finally,_ finally_ look at Jordan. He was looking right back at her, like he had never taken his eyes off of her in the first place.

"Good to see you, Governor," she said, the title strange to say in relation to him and not his father.

"I am still not used to that," Jordan replied, actually looking bashful. The politician in Elodie thought that he would have to nip that in the bud before someone got the impression that he was too soft to hold his own. The rest of Elodie found it very endearing.

"It will come, in time," Mathis said, clapping a hand to Jordan's shoulder in support. He could not have looked prouder to have his son following in his footsteps. And it could not have meant more to Jordan to have that prided leveled at him.

A tug on Elodie's skirts had her diverting her attention downward. Essie had been watching all the hugging and exchanges from afar, still skeptical of their new guests.

"And who do we have here?" Jordan asked, crouching down to the little girl's level. He was never one to be deterred, always smiles and friendly gestures. "Let me guess. This is the Princess Esperanza I have heard so much about."

Essie nodded, ducking her head and hiding in Elodie's skirt. It was a habit she was trying to break Essie of, but right now, Elodie's heart was clenching too tight for her to do anything about it.

"It is an absolute honor to meet you, Your Highness. You are even more lovely than the stories say."

Essie giggled, her face as red as Elodie's.

She nudged her daughter gently. "What do you say?"

"_Gracias_."

Jordan's smile was bright as he stood back up. "Beautiful and bilingual? Tell me again why I'm here? Surely you don't need me when you have such a talented princess to help run the country."

While he was talking about Essie, he maintained eye contact with Elodie the entire time.

"Alright Jordan, that's enough," Miss Josie chided, though she was clearly as enamored with the show as the rest of the group. She clapped her hands together. "Is it time to eat? I'm starved!"

Dad started ushering everyone towards the dining hall, directing like no one had been in the palace before. It was probably another habit, this one a lot easier to explain than the cufflinks, and soon enough Miss Josie started to mock him relentlessly for it.

The three adults walked ahead of Jordan and Elodie, probably letting them have their time to catch up. Only, how exactly did one start a conversation about their life for the past seven years? Would Jordan want a timeline of events? A summary? A set of memories? Jordan must have been contemplating the same thing, because he didn't say anything either. For someone as sociable and outspoken, Jordan had gone as silent as his father.

A few steps down the hall and Essie's hand came up to tug on Jordan's sleeve, drawing his attention. She had her best puppy-dog face on, eyes wide and long lashes batting against her cheeks.

"Can I show you my play house?"

"Not right now, _cariña_," Elodie intervened, getting down on her daughter's level no matter how hard it was in her dress. "We are going to have dinner first, and then you can play."

"But Mama!"

Essie pouted her bottom lip, eyes going glassy. Elodie knew that look very well. The waterworks were going to start any second.

"Surely dinner can go on without us?" Jordan tried, shrugging his shoulders. He seemed as eager to avoid upsetting Essie as Elodie was.

Elodie looked up to see that the rest of their party had stopped to watch the scene with open curiosity. She looked up at her father for guidance. This was his dinner after all, his grand plan. She would hate to ruin it.

"Of course. I was planning on a normal, uneventful dinner. For once." Dad said, laughing because they both knew there was never such a thing as an uneventful dinner. But they would make the effort for the Reinhardts. They deserved nothing less. "You two can catch up and join us later."

"Alright," Elodie conceded with a sigh, standing up straight to direct her daughter. "Lead the way."

Essie bound down the hall, running as fast as her butterfly shoes could take her. That was another bad habit Elodie was trying to break her of, but Essie had never taken to someone so quickly, and so she did not have the heart to correct it. Essie did not seem to mind that her Mama was walking much slower than she was, occupying her time by running dizzying circles around she and Jordan. Jordan took this all in stride, bless him, watching Essie run with obvious delight. He had never had siblings, and he didn't have children of his own. This whole experience must have been novel.

_It gets old fast_, she wanted to tell him. _Just wait until this is your whole life, twenty-four-seven, non-stop_. Put like that, it sounded like a bad thing, like taking care of her daughter was a chore, something to be suffered through. That could not ahve been further from the truth. While Essie's energy could be draining - especially when compiled with a long work day - Elodie would not trade a single second of her time with her daughter, not for anything. Which was why Elodie knew she would suffer through her marriage, why she would put her own needs last. Because Essie loved living in this palace full of love and laughter and _both_ of her adoring parents.

Essie's play house was in the furthest reaches of the palace, crammed in some forgotten corner. And, of course, there was climbing involved. Easy for an agile child, but not so much for a woman approaching thirty in a restrictive dress. Elodie did her best, however, kicking off her shoes and hiking her dress to her knees. Her hair was falling out of place and her forehead shining with sweat by the time she was inside, but neither Essie nor Jordan seemed to care.

Jordan tipped his head back, admiring the multi-level play area around him. "What is this place?"

It was an extravagant space, set up more like a child's version of a loft with a half-spiral staircase wedged between the different roofing levels and a play kitchen tucked in one corner, a large dollhouse and tea table set up in another. Essie had left her dress up trunk open, costumes spilling out onto the floor, and her monogrammed bean bag chairs had marker stains all over them. So many bad habits, so little time. Elodie briefly thought she was failing at her duties as a mother, but Jordan wasn't judging.

"It used to be a crawl space in one of the servant's rooms, something one of Dad's old Selected showed him. We had it retrofitted for Essie."

Jordan let out a long whistle, impressed. "She's lucky to have such a good mom."

"Sometimes I feel like I'm the worst mom in the world," Elodie confessed, picking up on of Essie's many dolls and brushing back its hair absentmindedly. "Between all the long hours and meetings, I miss out on a lot."

"Growing up, Dad was always on business trips or conference calls or spending whole weeks in the office. Sometimes it felt like I never saw him at all. But when he was home, he always made the most of it, made me feel like he was never even gone in the first place." Jordan had a fond, far-away look in his eye as he watched Essie rummage through her trunk. "It's not the quantity of time. It's the quality."

Elodie tried to let herself believe that.

"I suppose the same thing goes for friendships?"

Seven years was a long time apart. Elodie didn't need to say it for Jordan to hear it. He had to have been thinking the same thing. This nervousness, these butterflies in her stomach that felt more like bees, couldn't be one-sided. Not with the way Jordan was looking at her now.

"Seven days or seven years, I'm always gonna pick up the phone."

Somewhere, somehow, Elodie knew that. She always had. So why, then, had it become so hard to call? It seemed like such a stupid worry now, to think that Jordan would be a stranger just because a few odd years had passed. Look at them now, shoulder to shoulder, smile to smile like nothing had changed at all.

"I've missed you, you know," she said, the words somehow easier to say now, her chest lighter for freeing them.

"I've missed you too, Princess."

Funny, Elodie had never believed anyone when the said that...until now. No one had ever made her feel missed before. Though, she supposed to feel missed, she had to first be wanted.

Of course, there was always one person Elodie could rely on wanting her...

"Do you like my house?" Essie demanded to know, pulling on Jordan's sleeve to show him her kitchen.

"Your house is the best house I've ever seen," Jordan replied, much to Essie's delight. To reward him for his praise, she gave him a piece of plastic toast. She held her own slice up to his, and the clinked plastic bread like one would champagne.

"You hungry yet, cariña?" Elodie asked, ready to go...if only because her poor heart couldn't take much more of this onslaught of cuteness.

Essie dropped her bread immediately, dashing over to Elodie's side and nodding her head. It was comical, how fast she could make that big head of hers wobble like a bobblehead.

Just like that, the trio descended the play house to rejoin the dinner party. It was easier getting down than going up, Elodie finding it easiest overall to butt-scooch her way to the ground level. Jordan and Essie both found her method hilarious, but she made it with minimal damage to her person and dress, so Elodie considered it a success. She did not, however, put her shoes back on. Once the heels were off, they stayed off. Dad would understand.

They were half-way back to the dining room when the revelry ended.

"What's going on?"

The new voice shattered any sense of peace and happiness. It was the exact voice she did not want to hear, especially now.

"Daddy!" Essie shrieked, running into her father's arms and laughing as he spun her around.

"Felix!" Elodie exclaimed, forcing chipperness into her voice to mask her panic. She scrambled to take control of the situation before Felix got nasty, but it was too late. Felix had seen all he needed, from the way Jordan was smiling to her red velvet dress. "You remember Jordan Reinhardt. He's recently been elected Governor of Allens and brought the family back for a trip."

"Pleased to meet you." Jordan stuck out a hand for Felix to take, ever friendly.

Felix, however, looked like shaking Jordan's hand was beneath him. "Normally those in the common classes use the proper honorifics when addressing members of the royal family."

Jordan reeled back, not expecting such a frosty welcome.

"That's not necessary, _mi amor_," Elodie assuaged, rubbing a hand down Felix's arm. He always was one to diffuse with physical assurance. "Jordan is a longtime friend. He practically grew up one of us."

"No, he is right. I apologize, Your Highness."

Felix smiled smugly. Elodie could feel his ego preening under her fingers. She wanted to pull back, disgusted by her husband's headassery, but doing that would only make the situation worse.

"Longtime friends, is that so?" Felix asked, less than friendly. "And how long will you be staying with us, Jordan?"

"Just a few weeks."

Crippling silence passed over them. Elodie hoped that Jordan would be brave enough to break the tension. She was ashamed to say that, when it came to her husband, she wasn't brave enough.

"I should be getting back to dinner," Jordan gestured over his shoulder. Then he looked back to Essie and smiled. "Thank you, for showing me your play house."

Essie smiled and nodded vigorously. She liked Jordan, Elodie could tell.

"Take her with you?" Elodie asked, knowing that whatever was about to happen between she and Felix was better dealt without Essie in the middle. That was probably the only thing they both agreed on. Jordan was gracious enough to agree, reaching out his hand for Essie to take. She did, small hands wrapping around his, blowing kisses to her Mama and Papa.

"Good night, Your Highness."

Jordan's farewell was given directly to Elodie; he barely paid Felix a passing glance. It pissed Felix off to no end, Elodie could feel him seething. He was, however, a consummate actor, smiling at Jordan's retreating form all the way until he turned the corner.

"What the hell was that?" Felix asked. He said it quietly enough that their daughter didn't hear, but his tone wasn't nice. He never liked it when other men spoke to Elodie, but this was something new entirely.

"I could ask you the same thing," Elodie fired back, offended and mortified by Felix's behavior. "Jordan is our guest. Would it kill you to be polite?"

"Would it kill _you_ to show me some respect!"

The words slapped Elodie across the face. "Excuse me?"

_Who the fuck was he to bring up respect?!_

"I'm not blind. You're running around in our daughter's playhouse with this man who you haven't seen in years and you want me to be okay with it?" Felix exclaimed, the look on his face close to disgust. "You've lost your mind."

Maybe Felix was right. Maybe she had lost her mind. But she wasn't about to admit to it or apologize for it. So, she deflected.

"I'm sorry, but it wasn't like you were around to know what goes on around here," Elodie snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. "Did you even bother to remember there was a dinner tonight?"

"I did, actually, and when I showed up, _you_ weren't there." Felix's tone was accusatory, his dark eyes narrowing into slits. "Who the hell knows what you two would have gotten up to had I not gone looking, not that you give a fuck about me."

For one, brief moment, Elodie saw nothing but red.

"Jordan and I are_ friends_." Elodie took a step closer, the urge to rip her husband's throat out or cry overwhelming. "Don't you_ dare_ ever question my dedication to this marriage. _I_ am not the one who has been unfaithful."

This time it was not words that slapped her. It was the back of Felix's hand.

The shock overwhelmed the pain. The sting of skin on skin was nothing compared to the fractured agony of a broken heart. The thing was, Elodie was used to living with that pain as well, so all she felt was an overwhelming numbness that chilled her to the core.

"You are just like your father."

Elodie hardly recognized her own voice, the amount of venom present enough to poison a whole city. Not that she needed poison when she unleashed the six words certain to cut Felix to the core. It was times like this that Elodie felt she deserved to be hit, the times the bitterness she kept suppressed reared its ugly head. That was the Illéa in her - the cruel, cutting edge that her great-grandfather possessed and who had gotten it from his great-grandfather before him.

She watched with a sick satisfaction as she made Felix hurt as much as he hurt her, if only for a brief moment before his anguish turned into anger anew.

Felix didn't strike her again though. He turned on his heel and stormed down the hall, leaving his family once more.


	9. Interlude One: Ghosts

A/N: Thank you, everyone for your solidarity in the "We Hate Felix Club". He truly is a worthless piece of shit. More to come in future chapters about how he and Elodie ended up together in the first place; surprisingly enough, things started out pretty good. This chapter is called 'interlude' because it features a character that is not one of our main six. Therefore, it is a little shorter and will not follow the usual "the thing about..." format (last chapter technically did - the line "the thing about best friends" came in as soon as Elodie remembered she had one). So, I present to you Kaden's chapter. Enjoy!

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Interlude One: Ghosts

There was a lot on Kaden's mind.

Not only Cordelia's latest Report debacle, but he was already missing Auden. And Finn and Hayden. At least the latter were coming home soon. They would be home and Kaden would still be down another child, his house growing emptier and emptier and emptier. Out of all his children, only Elodie had shown up for dinner, the dining table sporting far to many unoccupied chairs. Even with Josie and her family staying with him, it would not make up for the hole Auden's absence would create, a hole widened with Kase's latest departure.

And Gabbi...

Kaden poured himself a drink. He wouldn't think about that now. He couldn't. Dinner had been so nice. He didn't want to spoil a good evening.

It had been so long since he had seen Josie. Too long. Her presence was a soothing one, even if she brought her constant stream of high-energy with her. She had not stopped chattering all throughout dinner, making up for years of lost time. Mathis was content to sit back and let Josie do the talking; so many years in the political arena, and Kaden could not blame the man for putting his voice to rest. Jordan was going to make a fine replacement; he had grown into quite the impressive young man, and Kaden looked forward to working with him. Allens was in good hands, of that, Kaden was certain.

Dinner ended too soon for Kaden's liking. It was a pleasant escape while it lasted. Everyone had retired for the night, heading towards their rooms for some much-needed rest after so much travel. They said their goodnights upon the main stairwell, many more hugs and kisses exchanged. There was a tension between Jordan and Elodie that was not there upon their initial reunion, but Kaden tried not to think too deeply about it. Elodie was a grown woman; she could handle her own affairs.

_Are you alright?_ Josie had asked, giving him a curious look, one hand gripped on his forearm. She had always been able to tell when he was preoccupied.

_Fine,_ he had replied, giving her his best smile. The state of his mental and physical health had always been a subjective thing. He didn't wish to worry her about things out of her control.

The fire roared in the great hearth of the library, the mantle tall enough to graze his forehead. He really should not have had the fire stoked so high, or be standing so close to where the embers spat, but Kaden could not be bothered to care. There were worse things in live than ruined suits, and the cold that came over him was so sudden that the risk seemed worth the pay off of warmth.

Along with the warmth came a headache. Strange, he had never gotten headaches from drinking before - and it wasn't even like he had had a lot to drink in the first place - but maybe this was something that came with age, something that had finally gotten to him alongside crows feet and grey hair. Or maybe it was the stress. There had been a lot of that lately, weighing him down more than usual, him and Elodie both.

Even if Elodie claimed she was fine, he could tell she wasn't. She was trying so hard to prove something, but prove _what_ was the question Kaden could not figure out. He knew she could be a workaholic just like him; it ran in the genes, unfortunately. But this...this was something else. So he had quietly, discreetly been taking things off her plate in the hopes that the haunted look about her would disappear. It hadn't worked, yet, but he would keep trying, even if the stress wore him to the bone.

_You have suffered worse,_ Kaden told himself during his long nights spent burning midnight oil over new charters or trade deals. _This is hardly a price to pay for the peace you have created._

His entire life had been a game of checks and balances. Give and take. But this game always seemed to take more than it gave.

The paper in his breast pocket weighed him down. It had been since he put it there earlier that evening. Right after Elodie had left his office, one of the guards had informed him of a request from one of the most high-security prisoners. Kaden already knew who it was before the thin slip of paper passed into his hands, a sense of dread washing over him as he caught sight of eerily familiar handwriting.

Kaden said that he would look at the request, that he would consider it. The guard must have known he was lying.

Kaden crumpled the paper and threw it into the fire, edges curling black as the ink was consumed.

"A bit late to start keeping secrets, don't you think?"

Kaden's eyes fluttered closed, willing himself to maintain what was left of his sanity.

He _knew_ that voice. It was a familiar to him as the back of his hand. He would recognize it anywhere, even if it had been years,_ decades_ since he last heard it. Even if the person who possessed it was long dead.

He must have drank more than he thought to be hallucinating his father.

"Keeping secrets is part of any job - mine especially. If I can't handle that...well...am I even fit to be king?" Kaden replied, the words a haunting echo of the ones from so many Christmases ago that plagued him in his sleep.

"You survived him then. You will survive him now."

There was no way his father could have known who had spoken those words originally, no way for him to have lived the horrors Kaden lived. It made enduring the voice bearable, knowing it was all in his head. Kaden's mind was projecting, his stress and guilt manifesting itself in a form most likely to break him down. At least, that was what Kaden told himself. It was a better explanation than him seeing ghosts. Kaden had had enough of the spiritual and supernatural to last his whole life.

Kaden knew what he was hearing wasn't real. Then why did he wish it was?

The fire grew too hot to stand near, and Kaden retreated to his large leather recliner, one of two that faced the fireplace. He pointedly avoided looking in the direction of the voice, afraid of what he'd find if he did, and even more afraid of how he would react.

"Besides, doesn't she deserve to know?" the voice continued, a pestering presence Kaden willed would leave him alone.

"She deserves to be happy," he said, righteous in his justification even if his stomach turned at the sight of the remaining embers. She had put the past behind her, had forged a life half way across the world. No need to trouble her with ghosts of her own.

"Can't she have both?"

Kaden wanted to laugh. No one in this life got to have their cake and eat it too; if he thought that were possible, he would not be caught in his dilemma. Knowledge and heartache went hand in hand. The phrase was 'ignorance is bliss' for a reason.

"Can't _I_?" Kaden asked in a burst of selfishness, like he was ten years old again, throwing a tantrum. Just a boy wearing his father's crown, never able to make it fit. "Aren't_ I_ owed some happiness."

It seemed like such a silly thing to say, such a greedy notion that he could be missing anything living in his gilded palace, with a wife and six children whom he loved dearly. But no matter how much happiness they brought him, his children would still grow up without their grandparents and there was still a monster lurking in the shadows of his basement.

"All a father wants is a longer, happier life for his children."

At least the voice had the sense to sound contrite.

"I have lived more years than both you and Grandfather ever got. Does that mean my time is up?" Kaden asked, spinning the whiskey round in his glass. Maybe he was a little less sober than he wanted, but he too far deep to stop. "Perhaps it is selfish of me, but I really….I really wanted to be the next to go. I don't think I can suffer another loss." Kaden closed his eyes so that he did not completely break down into tears. His throat was dangerously constricted with restrained sobs. "Seventeen is too young. I was only two years older than that when I lost you, Mom, and Eady...when I gained a crown. That was too young."

"A pain I know well. But who lives, who dies - those decisions are not ours to make."

"You've made that decision before," Kaden countered, thinking of outspoken diplomats, falling airplanes, and a hundred summer suns. The smile on his lips was mirthless, as was the huff of laughter that escaped his lips curved around the edge of his glass. "I have been reaping the consequences of that decision my whole life."

So much blood. So much pain. So much heartache. All from one bad decision.

There were not enough apologies in the world that would erase the number of bodies now buried alongside Priya Bloomsdale.

Thankfully, the ghost offered none.

"Was I such a bad father?"

"No. You weren't a bad father," Kaden said, replaying fragmented memories of his childhood, images of the world seen through bright eyes when everything was shiny and new. Kaden had so many good memories of his father throughout years spent in the naivety of youth.

Finally, he turned to face the ghost head-on. Maxon was young, younger than Kaden ever knew him: golden blond hair and smooth golden skin shining like the golden boy history liked to paint him as. No one could see the imperfections hanging in the portraits on the palace walls. Kaden knew them intimately, though, Maxon's halo not quite as bright as it once was. It hurt, Kaden realized, to see his father this way. He reminded Kaden far too much of himself.

"You were a bad king."

Maxon's ghost remained silent. It didn't matter. There was nothing left to say.


	10. The Thing about Coincidence

A/N: Annnnnnnnd we are back to Gabbi! And there's Aspen content! And the first of the Selected is introduced! This chapter was largely written to the cover of Somewhere Only We Know by Renee Dominique. Hope you all enjoy!

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The Thing About Coincidence 

The thing about coincidence is that it never worked in Gabbi's favor.

All the coincidences in her life, the big ones at least, were life-changing in the worst ways. Accidentally walk in on a conversation between your cousin and your father? Get knocked down the stairs and end up need emergency heart surgery. Get told you have less than six months left before you kick the bucket? Have your sister announce a Selection and get put under house arrest.

She hadn't actually told her parents about the six months bit. It was only by coercing the doctors into letting her break the news that had kept it all hush-hush. Truth be told, Gabbi was more terrified of how her parents would react to the news rather than the actual dying part. Or maybe it was her constant worrying about their reactions that kept her from processing just how short six months really was. By that timeline, she wouldn't even make it to summer. Would she make it in time to see Auden married? Would she make it in time to see this Selection through? There were so many things she was going to miss out on...and none of them were hers.

Sometimes -_ rarely_ \- fate brought Gabbi exactly what she needed at the exact right time.

The doors to her rooms opened. Gabbi didn't hear her maid announce who it was, expecting the usual doctor or nurse for her daily blood draw.

Imagine her delight when she turned to see an old man staggering through, leathered skin wrinkled with age, silver hair catching in the sunlight streaming through the window. He kept his head held high with pride, a military neatness to his appearance. There was only one person Gabbi knew who fit that bill.

"General Leger!" Gabbi cried, jumping up from the bed to throw her arms around the old man's neck. "You've returned!"

For someone of his age, he was still rather solid in stature and force. He only wobbled a little, gripping his cane to stabilize the momentum of Gabbi's impact. Yes, just as she remembered: solid and strong and warm.

The General laughed, his chest rumbling with the sound. "Of course I have. And I hear you've been placed under lock and key."

"Mom and Dad are set on torturing me. It's miserable. They think I'll break as soon as I step outside my room." Gabbi lamented, pulling away and plopping back down on the bed, curling up in her oversized sweater. "You'll have to tell me what the outside world is like now. Are there flying cars? It's been so long since I've seen the sun."

"It has been less than a week."

"Your point?"

A smile pulled at his thin lips, the kind that Gabbi liked to imagine he would have given his own children when they said something particularly sassy had he had any children to sass him. He just had to make do with her.

"I was going to suggest we play a game of cards, but it would be a shame to waste such a beautiful day." General Leger looked out the window, a wistful look about him. "Care to join me for a walk?"

"I'm not allowed outside the palace walls," she reminded. Had he not heard her the first time when she said she was under house arrest?

"Well, then it's a good thing the grounds are fenced in."

Joyous! Brilliant! How had she not thought of that? Gabbi had never loved the General more than in this moment.

"You, Sir, are a bad influence." Gabbi couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation, grabbing her extra, thicker sweater with renewed vigor. She got cold so easily these days, it was never bad idea to layer up. Unfortunately, the result was her looking like a mix between a pilgrim and a matronly librarian. Not necessarily the most attractive, but hey, who did she have to impress?

Aspen pressed a finger to his lips. "Hush, or we will get caught."

Gabbi bit down her giggles and took the General's arm. He steered them down the hall and towards the servant's staircase. The whole thing felt like a taboo mission from his spy days, sneaking about her house like it was one of his targets to infiltrate. They ended up in the kitchen, and then snuck out the side door to the garden path.

The air was warm for autumn, the smell of earth and decay heavy in the air as the trees sagged heavy with all the leaves they refused to shed. They wouldn't change color, not for another month or so - one of the drawbacks of living on the coast. Seasons didn't necessarily change more than suddenly snap, taking the overbearing heat and leaving behind the chill of winter and shriveled piles of grey leaves. The grass was still absurdly green as it squished underneath Gabbi's boot, expressing her prints as she and the General forged forward.

"Mind telling me where we are going?" she asked. Not that she didn't like surprises; she still appreciated being surprised. It was that usually, the General had a plan. He was not the type of man for surprises.

"Shopping."

"Shopping?"

That was all he said on the matter until they reached a very familiar stop on this particular garden path: the royal cemetery.

They were going shopping for graves.

Gabbi fought the urge to laugh again. It was such a ridiculous notion, but to laugh at a cemetery would mock the dead. Not that she would have to wait much longer to apologize for offending them in person.

The idea of dying did not scare Gabbi, that much was true. But the idea of the General dying, though he was older and on his way towards a natural end, brought her nothing but sadness. She didn't want him to leave her. Maybe it was selfish, but she wanted to do all the leaving. That way, it would hurt less.

"You're not allowed to die, General Leger. You're immortal. You'll live forever and ever."

"I wish that were the case, my dear. Unfortunately, I think my time is coming to a close."

"I know the feeling. Maybe we will pass together, hand in hand." She took the General's hand and waffled it with hers, comparing his weathered, veiny hands to her smooth, soft ones. How different they looked to be decaying all the same. It was a silly notion, but Gabbi liked to be silly around the General. He was the only one who she could joke like this around, the only one who wouldn't take offense to her morbid tendencies. "You know, you are the only one who has ever treated me like I am here, present, living. You're the only one who has never shown me pity."

"That is because there is nothing to pity." Aspen squeezed her hand once, then pulled back. He looked at her with a mix of amusement and nostalgia. "I think you are the bravest girl I have ever met. You remind me so, so much of your grandmother."

This was not the first time someone had told Gabbi this, nor was it the first time by the General. She wished she had the chance to know this mysterious grandmother of hers, the one they said she resembled less so in body than soul. She had not inherited her grandmother's red hair nor her green eyes, but she had inherited her stubborn nature, rebellious spirit, and unreliable genetics. At least, those were all the things that had been said about her by various people at various times, so who really knew how much truth there was to the claims. It was only when the General said it that Gabbi believed him, but even then she wished she'd had proof. Maybe then Gabbi would know how her grandmother beat the disease that claimed her own father's life, and now Gabbi's. She refused to believe it was something as dumb as luck, but then again, Gabbi did get the Schreave genetics for luck...which were fairly poor given the terrible deaths so many members had suffered at such young ages.

And they were all buried here, in the family plot. Their tombstones were all filed in neat rows, clumped together in family order. None of them were particularly old, given the country's youth, but there was a fair amount of moss and vines creeping up around the more elaborate statues. Gardeners tended to trim the foliage down, but Gabbi liked the look. When she died, she would ask to have flowers planted on her grave so that maybe, as she decayed, something beautiful could live on in her wake.

Gabbi did not have to walk far to get to America's tombstone. It was joint with Maxon's, as was the time of their deaths. She knew if she looked over one to the right, Eadlyn's would sit beside theirs with the same date and time. And beside that was empty space.

"Maybe I should be buried next to her then, if we are so similar. The plot was supposed to be for Uncle Ahren, but I suppose he won't need it now." She tried to imagine a headstone in the empty space, how it would look. Would she pick something opulent or something simple? No matter how hard she focused, the image did not come to her. "It is sad that Uncle Ahren will be buried so far from home."

"France is his home. It has been for quite some time."

"Ahren Schreave, Crown Prince of France. That will be his legacy." Gabbi sighed, giving up on her vision. It simply would not cooperate. "I've always wanted a legacy, something to leave behind my mark on history. But it's too late now to become a great virtuoso or write the next literary classic."

"Your legacy will live on in the hearts and minds of those who love you."

"But that's not enough, now is it? Elodie will be Queen of Illéa one day, Auden flew half way across the world to be the Queen of Portugal, and I will be the girl who died of a broken heart." Gabbi laughed though there was nothing funny about dying. Her mother told her that every time she joked about it. Gabbi reached out to run her fingers along the cool granite, tracing the letters of her grandmother's name. "I want that put on my tombstone. '_Here lies Gabrielle: died of a broken heart'. _Sounds mysterious...romantic, don't you think?"

"I think it sounds sad."

Gabbi paid him no mind. She didn't like it when the General started making sense, started making their conversations spin sense. Of course it was sad. The whole Schreave family was bathed in sadness. That didn't mean she had to take a heavy heart to the grave. Just a still one.

"I'm sure you'll want all your awards and rankings listed in alphabetical order on yours." she said, refusing to look the General in the eye lest he see them growing misty. "A record like yours, they're all bound not to fit."

Aspen huffed a laugh. "No, I think _'loving husband'_ will suit just fine."

When she turned, Gabbi found the General looking at the grave marked under the large willow tree. It was a smaller grave than the others, less opulent, but buried in the prettiest spot on the lot. In the spring, the willow tree bloomed and the blossoms filled the air like snowfall.

It had been so long since Miss Lucy passed that Gabbi tended to forget she had existed at all. How long, Gabbi wondered, would it take for her family to forget her?

"Do you miss her?"

"Every day."

"Me too." That much was true. What little Gabbi remembered of the woman was warm and sweet and scented like baking flour and roses. There were vague memories of summers spent in a small cottage by the coast, toes buried in the sand and none of her siblings around to steal the attention of the old woman looking on fondly, eyes crinkled through smile lines and crows feet. Gabbi wished she could remember more of the only grandmother figure she ever had. "At least you'll get to see her again. I don't have anyone waiting up there for me. At least, not anyone I know and care about."

"You'll have me."

The hand on Gabbi's shoulder was heavy, full of a sadness. Again, with the sadness. She shook it off and pulled a smile on, unwilling to shatter such a perfect afternoon so soon.

"Have you forgotten your immortality already?"

"Oops. I must have. Silly me."

There was no sadness in the General's laugh this time. Only the fondness he reserved specifically for her. Sometimes, when he thought Gabbi wasn't looking, he looked at her like he was trying to see someone else, someone who was not Miss Lucy. Sometimes, on her sad days, she wondered if he only liked to spend time with her to remind him of who he lost. But when the General smiled like that, at _her_ and not the ghost he was chasing, Gabbi knew it was she who brought him joy. It was a strange pride she carried, the knowledge that she could make someone laugh. Before Aspen, she had only succeeded in making people cry.

The hand on her shoulder tightened by a fraction, a steering gesture. The General angled himself towards the cemetery gate.

"Come on now, I think we've had enough for one day."

"You're right." The wind was picking up an autumnal chill, and Gabbi wrapped her sweater tighter around her frame. She cast a look back at the plot and ignored its siren song. "Far too soon to get cozy."

They walked arm and arm back around the bend towards the servant's entrance. Perhaps, if they were lucky, the cooks will have already started making dinner and there would be fresh rolls to pilfer. It was a terrible habit, but hey, Gabbi was dying. Surely God could forgive a dying girl's request for some fresh bread.

Mouth watering at the thought of bread, Gabbi did not pay attention as she took a turn, and wound up running head-first into a young man.

It was the surprise of the collision more than the collision itself that sent her falling on her butt. No one ever took the servant's entrance anywhere. Ever. Unless you counted Delia on her party nights, but she was being watched like a hawk for the Selection now, and it was barely evening time. The coast should have been clear. It should have been -

Her collider scrambled to his feet, brushing off his jeans and extending in his hand to her. "I am so sorry. Here, let me - "

Gabbi took his hand, too curious not to. His palms were warm and rough but gentle as he steadied her, brushing aside dusty brown hair so he could get a better look at all the damage he did not cause. That didn't stop him from looking nervous, like had had damaged her in some way. Gabbi hated it when people looked at her like that.

"Are you new here? I haven't seen you around before."

"Sorry, that's so rude of me." He shook his head, smiling brightly. "I'm Ezra, one of the Selected. And you are?"

He didn't seem as excited as Gabbi thought a Selected would be. But, then again, he was competing for Delia's hand. She would be less than thrilled as well. But Ezra seemed genuinely happy; maybe that would be good for Delia. Gabbi could only hope.

This was probably the only time she'd ever see any of the Selected. Soon, she would only get to see Ezra on TV screens and read transcriptions of his interviews. Still, it was nice to put a face to a name. When it was Elodie's Selection, Gabbi was too young to care about most of it. She did remember sitting on her mother's lap while she brushed her hair, watching recaps of date nights and elimination nights, seeing her sister laugh and cry, wondering what the whole thing was all about. What made these guys so special? Looking at Ezra, he seemed normal enough...just looking at her with wide brown eyes...waiting for something...

Then, she remembered that she hadn't answered his question. Duh.

"Gabbi."

Ezra gave her a funny look. "Gabbi...like the princess?"

_Abort. Abort. Abort._

Gabbi had not thought that one through. She should not have used her real name. Now, this rando Selected could go and blow her cover to Mom and Dad and she would never be allowed outside her room again! Not that she was allowed outside anyway, but they could take away her visitation rights, could try to limit how much time she spent with the General, and that was unacceptable.

"Leger," Aspen chimed in, rescuing Gabbi from sheer embarrassment. "Gabrielle Leger, my granddaughter, though she gets compared to the princess often. Nothing but a bit of sheer coincidence."

Gabbi was impressed at how quickly and easily the General could lie. She knew, of course, that it was part of his job for a very long time. He was paid handsomely to keep state secrets for his entire career. However, seeing it in practice was a whole new level of surrealism. Even she believed she was his granddaughter with the level of confidence he injected into his words.

"General Leger, Sir, it's an honor." Ezra stuck out his hand in attempts to recover any kind of formal introduction. It was also clear that he was sincere in what he said: he really looked like it was an honor to meet Aspen.

Aspen took Ezra's hand and nodded. "You'd best be off, young man, before someone a lot less friendly catches you poking around."

"Sorry, of course." Ezra had the sense to look bashful. The General was right, though. Selected probably weren't allowed to be poking around the servant's entries. "I was actually looking for my room, believe it or not. I got lost coming back from the dining hall."

"I'm sure my granddaughter can show you."

"Ahh - "

"Only if it's no trouble. I don't wnat to interrupt your walk." Ezra was quick to interject, clearly as taken aback as Gabbi was.

Gabbi did not like the mischievous glint in the General's eyes. Not one bit.

"No trouble, right my dear?"

"No trouble," Gabbi parroted, glad that she was half turned away from Ezra so she could shoot the General her best '_what the fuck?'_ look. She was going to kill him for this, if the guards didn't catch and kill her via solitary confinement in the infirmary first. "Are you sure that you'll be able to get to your room alone?"

"I may be dying but I'm not dead yet." The General loved to use that quip. He waved his cane in their direction, shooing them off. "I'll be fine. You two go ahead."

Gabbi did not like leaving the General alone. He had a bad leg and his arthritis could flare mercilessly at the most inconvenient times. But he was also a stubborn motherfucker, and once he made his mind up about something there was no changing it. If he wanted Gabbi to walk this Ezra person to his room, then so be it. There would be no changing Aspen's will. Gabbi both loved and hated that about him.

They left the General to make his own way up the stairs, foregoing the servant's ways and taking the more acceptable common ways. It was risky for Gabbi to be seen walking this close to an "unknown entity" as her physicians would call it, but it was riskier for public image if a gossipy maid caught her with this boy in an off-limits area. The last mark Gabbi wanted to make on this world was that she was a slut who stole her sister's man before the Selection even started.

Ezra kept looking up, taking in everything as they went by. Gabbi hoped he was remembering the way so that she wouldn't have to be inconvenienced again. Not that she anticipated a run in like this happening again.

"So, do you live here, in the palace?" he asked, breaking the silence.

"Yeah. My, uh, _grandfather_ is good friends with the royal family. He's been sick recently and moved back after his wife died."

"His wife...so, your grandmother?"

Gabbi smiled and nodded, catching herself from saying '_what_'. She really needed to get better at this whole charade thing. The General had not pulled out all the spy stops for Gabbi to fuck it up now.

The Selected were staying in the guest wing. Thankfully, Ezra recognized his way to his exact room once they hit the right hall. It wasn't until Gabbi was standing beside him as he fiddled with the doorknob that she realized she had followed him.

"So, does this mean I'll be seeing more of you?" he asked, as innocent as the puppy dog he reminded her of.

Gabbi cocked her head to the side. "Shouldn't you be worried about seeing the princess?"

"I am worried. A lot, actually."

"Don't be. She's not what she looks like." Ezra quirked a brow, challenging Gabbi to prove it. He was smart, though, not to voice his protests aloud. That would not be a good way to start his odds in a Selection. Gabbi felt for him, she really did. "A word of advice, though? Be careful."

Ezra quirked the other brow. He wasn't much for words, then. That was fine. His face spoke volumes enough.

"Princess Delia is not cruel, not on purpose, but she can be. I don't even think she knows she does it. I've seen her rip good people apart in the blink of an eye. And you...you seem like a good person."

"Consider me warned." Ezra, while he said he was worried, did not look it. Gabbi said a silent prayer for his stupid, naive heart. For some reason, it hurt her to think that she might not be the only one in the palace with a damaged heart by the end. "Any other advice you'd like to give?"

Gabbi laughed. "Oh, no. I won't help you cheat."

"Worth a try." Ezra flashed a winning smile, and Gabbi felt her heart do something other than its perpetual ache. "Any other warnings to send me running for the hills?"

"I'll let you figure those out on your own." Gabbi said, unable to stop smiling back. "Don't want to ruin the surprise."

For a minute, they just stood in silence. Ezra made no move to enter his room, still leaning in the door frame. Gabbi made no move to walk away. Until finally, a guard passed them by and tipped his hat to them. Then, Gabbi remembered exactly who she was and why she should not be there.

"I should...get going."

"Yeah, probably." While he agreed with her, his tone did not sound all too enthusiastic. The look on his face was pensive...and a little hopeful. "I'll see you around, Gabbi Leger."

Gabbi said nothing in reply. She didn't want to get the poor guy's hopes up any higher.


	11. The Thing About Mornings

A/N: We finally get to meet the boys eleven chapters later! YAY!

* * *

The Thing About Mornings

_The thing about mornings was, they ruined perfectly good dreams._

_Soft, warm sunlight filtered through linen curtains, signaling the start of a beautiful new day. Delia had been dreaming the most wonderful dream, something about flowers and ferris wheels and Misa's smile whenever she said something particularly clever. Or, maybe she was just remembering the carnival they went to last night, cutting through the countryside underneath a sky full of stars to ride the tilt-a-whirl and eat cotton candy until they shut off all the lights. It was a magical experience, something that only happened in the movies, and yet it happened to Delia of all people._

_Delia couldn't quite believe that it was real. Which was why she was so reluctant to open her eyes._

_However, the smell of bacon was impossible to resist, drawing Delia's head out from the covers quicker than any alarm._

_She took in her surroundings, not that there was much to take in of the small loft. The bed she slept on was no more than a mattress sat on the wooden floor. There were fairy lights strung across the ceiling and a few of those neon plastic stars as well. Potted plants sat in every available corner in various stages of life and death. There was no television, but there was a bookshelf crammed full of texts ranging from the history of Egyptian mummification to cheap romance novels. And, of course, a large desk sat in the corner piled high with case files, knick-knacks, and miscellaneous papers. _

_The clothes strewn all over the floor created a path to the kitchen where Misa stood in front of the stove in nothing but an oversized white button-down, obviously the source of the heavenly bacon scent._

_"Mmmm, smells good." __  
_

_At the sound of her voice, Misa turned around, her grin small but flirtatious as she plucked the bacon from the pan, put it on a plate with eggs and toast, and walked it over to Delia's side._

_"Breakfast in bed? You shouldn't have."_

_"I have a, uh, friend. Bella. She taught me the basics to survive."_

_Delia mulled this over as she chewed her toast. __"So, you globe trot, you teach, you cook...is there anything you can't do?"_

_"You make my life sound so glamorous."_

_Misa walked off and grabbed the clothes sitting across the back of her desk chair. She had no shame in getting ready right there in the middle of the room, pulling on a pair of hose and tucking her button-down into the body-hugging pencil skirt. On anyone else, the outfit would have looked like she was trying too hard to be the 'bad teacher' in a porno. Misa's confidence in knowing how good she looked was what pulled it off._

_Delia swallowed._

_"That's because it is. You know, you're basically like the female Indiana Jones."_

_"Please, Indiana Jones wishes he could be me," Misa scoffed, slipping on stilettos far too high to have any business walking through a university campus. She sauntered over to the edge of the bed and bent at the waist, giving Delia a good show before placing a kiss to her forehead. "Now, get up."_

_"I'm so comfy," Delia protested, snuggling deeper into the sheets, which should have been impossible seeing as though all Misa owned were thin hotel sheets and a ratty woven blanket._

_Misa laughed, ruffling Delia's hair with one leather-glove-clad hand, sounding so close yet so far away. "But you have to wake up."_

.o.O.o.

The thing about mornings was, they ruined perfectly good dreams.

Delia opened her eyes, expecting the eclectic London flat. All she got was her palace bedroom.

She closed her eyes, smothered a pillow to her face, and screamed.

"Wake up!" came an irritatingly familiar voice. Delia had not heard the intruder come in, but she knew if she lifted this pillow, she would see her Elodie's lovely face. And by lovely, Delia meant red-splotched and vicious. Because that was the only way any of her siblings looked at her these days.

The curtains were torn back, letting in an onslaught of brightness and heat. Delia recoiled from it.

"Ugh, what the fuck is that?"

"The sun," Elodie replied shortly. Great. Not even five minutes into Delia's day, and Elodie was already in a mood. She must not have had her coffee yet. "You were supposed to be up two hours ago for breakfast."

"Mmm, must have slipped my mind."

"The Selected ate breakfast with us..._alone_." Delia looked up to see that the dark circles underneath Elodie's eyes were especially pronounced, and that one eye was twitching. She crossed her thin arms from underneath her cream colored blazer. "Do you have any idea how mortifying that was?"

"It's just breakfast."

"There were _cameras_," Elodie hissed, unamused. "They came to tape _you_ and _your Selected_, and instead got an hour's worth of the most stilted small talk I've ever experienced. I've already been through a Selection. I'm not going through yours for you."

"Stop being so fucking dramatic."

Elodie ripped off the covers, a chill taking over Delia. She immediately sat up to claw the blanket back, but Elodie was too fast, too used to dealing with this from her own child. The blankets were piled up in Elodie's death grip, her eyes promising murder if Delia did not get out of bed right this second.

"Tea is being served in the Men's Room in an hour. If you are not there with your hair and makeup done, I promise I will make your life a living hell."

"Yes, Mom."

For a moment, Elodie went so deathly still that Delia thought she had finally caused her sister to have an aneurysm.

"You know, I told Dad that you weren't ready for this kind of responsibility, that he was crazy for letting this Selection happen. I just didn't expect to be proven right so soon."

Elodie might as well have slapped her. Delia knew that her siblings were tired of her antics, that they didn't approve of a lot of her choices recently, but hearing it put such a blunt way hurt.

No more word were exchanged as Elodie exited the room, slamming the door shut behind her. For someone who liked to act so mature, Elodie sure was acting childish. Something had to have happened, something with that shitbag husband of hers. Delia hated Felix as much as everyone else, but hey, if Elodie didn't give a fuck about hurting her, then who was Delia to try to save Elodie? Let her suffer. It would serve her right.

Delia got up from bed as soon as Elodie was gone (well, maybe not _as soon as_ Elodie left. Maybe she took a couple dozen minutes to scroll social media). It took every ounce of energy in her to make it to the bathroom, dread for what the day would bring weighing her down. Maybe Dad was right. Maybe he was crazy for letting Delia have a Selection. She was already resenting it, and she hadn't even met anyone yet.

She looked in the mirror and studied her reflection. Honestly, she wasn't much to look at, no beauty that could not be found on every other girl you passed on the street. She had long dark hair that held a curl if she forced it, hazel eyes that wavered between a muddied green and amber brown, and relatively clear skin dotted with the occasional freckle. Nothing extraordinary. Nothing special.

Delia hated her reflection. She hated it so much.

A pair of scissors sat in a cup by the sink. They called to her, made her fingers itch with the urge to destroy. Delia gave in. She grabbed them out of the cup, yanked a portion of her mud brown hair in front of her eyes and snipped. Long locks fell into the sink, coating the porcelain with the promise of clogging the drain should she try to flush away her mistake.

Delia looked up.

Bangs. She had given herself bangs. And not the cute kind, either. These were the kind of bangs that five-year-olds gave each other when the teachers weren't looking and they had yet to understand the permanence of cutting something off. The ends were jagged, longer on the sides than in the middle, and very uneven. The center pieces hiked as far as half way up her forehead.

It looked so bad she could cry.

Delia hated her reflection even more, but she didn't have time to fix anything now. She had twenty minutes until the hell Elodie promised would descend upon her shoulders. At least Elodie didn't say Delia had to have her hair and make up done_ well_.

A few swipes of mascara and some chapstick later, Delia was bounding down the stairs in twos. By the time she got to the Men's Room door, she was out of breath and slightly sweaty. But she had made it there on time. Take that, Elodie!

Speaking of Elodie, she looked less than impressed with Delia's appearance. Delia swore her eyebrows actually shot off her forehead at the sight of the bangs. The rest of Delia must have been deemed acceptable: oversized off-white sweater, pale denim jeans without any kind of tears, and the cleanest pair of sneakers she owned. Nothing was exposed and there were no vulgar sayings or symbols, so Elodie was appeased. Except for the bangs. Elodie could not stop staring at the bangs.

"So, what now?" Delia asked, breaking the silence. She rocked back on her heels, looking at her sister expectantly.

"Now, you go in there and do interviews," Elodie said, returning her attention back to her tablet with noticeable effort. "And try not to make a fool of yourself."

"I thought you said this was tea?"

"Yes, tea _and_ interviews," Elodie stressed, as if Delia was stupid. And okay, maybe she didn't read the Selection requirements like she promised Dad she had, but interviewing thirty-five random dudes like this was a job instead of a relationship was just plain weird. Who the hell came up with this stuff? "It's the first step of getting to know your Selected. It lets you know who you do and don't connect with."

"And if I don't connect with them?"

"Usually there is a round of eliminations after the interviews. I cut seven Selected after my interviews, but Dad didn't cut any if I remember correctly. Then again, he only had twenty Selected, so it was different."

"What if I don't connect with _any_ of them?"

It was a legitimate fear, one she hated that she voiced aloud. Delia flinched at how small she sounded, how uncertain. It betrayed everything she was trying to make herself be. She didn't want to be some clingy, needy, emotional girl. She didn't want to be exhausting. She didn't want to be burden. She didn't -

"Purposefully sabotaging the Selection is not going to get you out of it," Elodie said harshly, jumping to the worst case scenario. She was always jumping to the worst case when it came to Delia. Everyone did. "Just...be anything but yourself. And try not to embarrass the whole family while you're at it."

Terrible, angry feelings churned in Delia's stomach at being dismissed so cruelly. Of course, Elodie didn't know she was being cruel, not that Delia would tell her anyway, or that Elodie would believe it. So, Delia was stuck with this loathing like poison running through her veins, eager to destroy.

Elodie thought she was embarrassing? Oh, she'd show Elodie embarrassing.

Delia pushed through the double doors like a woman on a mission, head held high and cocky. Thirty-five pairs of eyes were immediately on her, watching her as she sauntered through the room to the two large chairs set up perfectly for interviewing. The chairs were angled towards each other, a coffee table in front, and posed facing a nice view of the gardens out the bay window. So romantic.

She picked the chair closest to the window, foregoing any kind of propriety in favor of sitting with her legs crossed on the cushion. There was a cup of tea waiting for her, made specifically how she liked it. She picked it up without waiting for someone to join her, taking a large, loud slurp. The tea was scalding, burning her taste buds, but she refused to choke lest she ruin her charade. She could feel Elodie's eyes boring holes in the back of her skull. Perfect.

"So, who's first?"

Delia hoped the cameras captured her smirk.

The first unlucky bastard - _Selected,_ sorry - was a jittering, nervous mess. He had unruly hair, tanned skin with just the right amount of dark beard kept close to the jawline, and an unhealthy love of plaids if his shirt was anything to go by. Still, with puppy dog eyes wide and eager to please, Delia almost had to second guess what she was about to do.

"And your name is?" she asked, extending a hand.

Plaid shirt guy looked like he might faint at the thought of touching her. But he still took her hand, shook it once, and Delia pretended she couldn't feel the tremble.

"Teo. Fernandez." He said his name like he forgot he had to provide both.

"You know, my sister is married to a guy with the last name _Her_nandez. How funny is that!"

Teo didn't know what to say. Delia saved him by waving her sister down.

"Hey Ells! If I marry this guy, we will have similar last names! Wouldn't you just looovveee that?"

Elodie shot Delia a look that said if she didn't shut up and take things seriously, Elodie would choke her with her tea.

"M-marry me?" Teo stuttered, and poor thing, he did choke on his tea.

"Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves just yet." Delia said sweetly, patting his knee. Teo looked like he was going to pass out. It was kind of funny that she could reduce a guy standing at six feet and broad with muscle to a puddle of nerves. "There's still all the competition to get through, and what kind of woman would I be if I didn't give everyone a fighting chance?" Delia pouted out her bottom lip. "But you don't want to hear about the competition, you're here to talk about us. So, tell me about yourself."

Delia tuned out a bunch of blather about how he spent his summer leading tours on some preserve, getting down and finding himself in nature. Honestly, it all sounded like hokey bullshit, but hey, if he found peace out in the trees with the mosquitos, then maybe it was worth a try. Maybe when this whole Selection thing was over, she would take a trip into the middle of some woods, light a blunt, get really high, and look up into the stars until this shitty universe made sense.

"Personally, I don't like nature," Delia said as they wrapped up their interview. She only had five minutes per guy, and Teo was way over his allotted time. Or maybe the torture of having to do this over and over again with thirty-five guys was making time drag on longer. "But thanks for the chat!"

Teo got up, dazed but not in the star-struck way this time, and went back over to the rest of the group. He picked a chair all his own near the window. So, he was a loner too? Interesting.

The next guy up was pretty attractive with dark skin and equally dark eyes. He was dressed more formally than Teo in a blazer, slacks, and dress shoes like this really was some kind of job interview. The way he sat in the chair, reclined with one leg resting comfortably on top of his knee, spoke of a confidence Delia envied. Right now she was faking her bravado. How did this total stranger feel so at ease right now?

His name was Dante Wallace-Chavaria, and if that wasn't a mouthful, his job certainly was. Or, that was, the job he could have had.

"You gave up medical school...for me?" Delia asked, her mind unable to process what she was hearing.

"I didn't give it up, just deferred." Dante shrugged his shoulders like that wasn't a big deal to put his dream on hold for her. Delia didn't like the way it made her feel, like the acid of all her bad intentions was crawling up her throat.

"I'm sorry, but that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," she snapped, unable to inject even a little bit of levity in her voice, because_ who the fuck did that?_ He didn't even _know_ her!

Dante blinked, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. "Excuse me?"

"You'd put becoming a doctor on the back burner for some woman you've never met? Stupid. That medical school should rescind its offer."

Dante looked like he was trying hard to remain calm. Delia commended him on his restraint. He was doing a far better job then her.

"Where are you from?" she asked, trying to divert their attention to a topic a little less inflammatory. Dante played along well enough, but he was far more tense than he was when he first sat down.

"Carolina, but Dominica originally."

"Oh, so you know how to salsa dance and make those spicy mangos on a stick?"

Dante only frowned, deep lines furrowing into his forehead as he replied, deadpan, "I'm not that kind of Dominican."

"Pity. Could have been a fun date."

That's pretty much how Dante's interview ended before the five minutes were through. He got up and gave Delia a perfunctory nod of his head before rejoining the rest of the group.

The next guy to walk Delia's way was familiar in a way models in catalogues were familiar: vague but recognizable. He wore an expensive three-piece suit with matching cufflinks, pocket square, and pocket watch with a silver chain. Everything about him screamed money, and the bored expression on his face as he sat primly in the chair across from Delia screamed privilege. The only thing that was off about him was the fact that his hair was clearly died blond. Delia knew of zero New Asians with natural blond hair.

"I know you."

The words came out of their own accord, Delia's filter slipping. Instead of being alarmed, the guy across from her relaxed in his seat, looking at her like he expected this.

"Do you?"

"Yeah, you're that diplomat's kid. I've seen you in the tabloids."

_Jaesung Kim_, the name came back to her. Yeah, that was him. Granted, he was a lot more put together than she was used to seeing him: sweat-drenched and ruffled, high or drunk out of his mind and stumbling out of the newest club or bar. He was an even hotter mess than she was, and had been running the party scene longer. How funny it was to have him in her Selection. Was she being punked?

"What a coincidence. I've seen you there too," he replied smoothly, amused. She probably looked way more put together than he was used to seeing her as well. "Maybe we were meant to be."

Delia snorted and rolled her eyes. "Why are you here? You're popular, famous, and loaded. What could you possibly have to gain from dating me?"

"You're right. My life is pretty perfect." Jae flashed a winning smile, his perfectly white teeth on display for the cameras. "But why wouldn't I want the chance to win the heart of a beautiful princess?"

Was this guy high right now? Had he seen her bangs? Delia fought not to roll her eyes twice in a minute. "Wow, what a compliment. Just what every girl wants to hear."

"What do you want to hear, then?"

Delia thought about it. What did she want to hear? Definitely not some waxed on, bullshit poetics about how much of a pretty princess she was. The actual answer was one she didn't even try to vocalize. It wouldn't do her any good. So, she stayed quiet. But the longer she stayed quiet, the longer Jae looked at her like she was the most fascinating thing in the world. Delia didn't like it.

"Why are you staring at me?"

"I'm trying to figure you out," he said, cocking his head to the side in thought. Delia tried not squirm at the feeling that he was looking right through her. "Why is the beautiful princess so sad?"

"Why are you?" she fired back. It took one to know one, after all. She was the expert in blasé exteriors to hide broken interiors, and this guy? Well, he must have been pretty damn broken to put up a front this strong.

Jae, the smug bastard, only smiled. Delia could almost hear him humming a laugh under his breath.

Then the timer ran down to zero, and Jae was getting up and moving on, that barely-there laughter following him back to the group.

His assessment hit far too close to home. Delia's heart was beating erratically, adrenaline coursing through her system by the time the next guy sat down. She was so shaken that she didn't hear him approach. Which was probably the reason why she jumped when she saw his face...not the myriad of spots that decorated. Judging by way this guy's smile immediately fell from his face, he probably thought she was shallow and judgy. Which she could be. But not about something like someone's entire face.

She couldn't be mean to this guy. Not after that.

"Sorry, dude, I'm an asshole but not that big of an asshole," she apologized, taking a sip of her tea that was still hot enough to burn the lingering panic away.

"Nah, I get it," he said as he relaxed in the chair. Out of all the guys she had spoken to so far, he was dressed the most casual in a tee shirt and a pair of well-worn jeans, his sneakers covered in tiny scuff marks. He looked comfortable. Delia was slightly envious. He took a look around the room before looking back at her. "This must be stressful."

"You have no idea," Delia sighed, trying not to sound bitter and failing. "I wish I could just fast forward to the end and get this over with."

"The interviews?"

"The Selection."

The look on his face said it all - all the questions he wanted to ask, all the thoughts and endless possibilities swirling in his mind. It was the one thing that everyone wanted to know: why did you do this, Delia? Why choose to have a Selection? It was the one question she refused to answer, especially to some guy she did not know and had no real intention of ever getting to know.

"Don't," Delia warned, her voice taking on a gravel tone. She had already been pushed too close to the edge once. There was no telling what would happen if she got there again. "If I wanted help, I would ask for it."

"Who said anything about help?"

Fuck.

That was a poor choice of words. Way to go Delia, just dig yourself deeper in the hole!

Dark brown eyes started into hers, wide and empathetic. Delia looked away. She didn't want anyone to look at her like that, like she was something to be fixed. Like she was some charity case.

Instead of talking for their last thirty seconds, her companion took the time to scribble down their name and number on the back of a napkin. He passed the napkin to Delia, his friendly face going serious.

"If you ever want to talk, or something, you'll know where to find me."

With that, he got up and walked off. Delia stared down at the napkin, fighting the urge to crumple it. _Yeah right_, like she would be seeking out Andre Thompson any time soon.

Next up was another of the friendly sort. He had short brown hair and a wide open smile that cued sunshine and rainbows to pour from the sky. It almost hurt to look at how chipper this guy was. He perched at the edge of his seat, little anxious lines pulling around the corners of his smile. He must have gotten the casual message from Andre, dressed in jeans and a tee. Somehow, having multiple Selected so dressed down put Delia at ease for choosing her own outfit. Take that, Elodie!

With a face like that, Delia thought that he would be a talker - one of those guys that rambled on and on and on without end. So it was pretty awkward when no one spoke for two whole minutes. The guy stared at his hands, studying the ridges of his knuckles like he had never seen them before, and Delia stared at the clock, wondering how excruciatingly slow the three remaining minutes could pass by.

"So, that weather, huh?" she tried, hating herself just a little because _the weather? Honestly? _

"Yeah, it's, uh, nice."

Both of them flinched as conversation immediately died. Jesus, this guy was worse at small talk than she was, which was saying something.

"Perfect day for interviews."

"I wish it was raining." That...was a new one. Delia gave him a look that prompted an explanation. "It's just, all the sunshine and warmth, I'd rather be biking."

"Biking?" Delia asked, reassessing every assumption she had made about this guy. Try as she might, she couldn't picture him in leather. "Didn't take you to be the Harley Davidson type."

"No," he laughed, the tense lines of his shoulder relaxing as he slipped into more familiar territory. "Mountain biking."

Ah, that made sense.

"You and Teo over there should start a nature-lover's club." She jerked her head back toward the plaid-loving nature guide. Of course she would get stuck in a house full of crunchy guys.

And then, at the thought of bikes, she started to hum a song under her breath. _I want to ride my bicycle, bicycle, bicycle... _

His eyes widened significantly. "You know Queen?"

"My dad's obsessed with that old-school crap."

"Hey! Queen is not crap," Ezra fired back. By the look on his face, Delia might as well have insulted his mother.

"Cool your jets, Freddie Mercury," she said, holding out one hand to fend him off in case he went rabid in his haste to defend the dead singer's honor. "I was going to say that my dad owns a bunch of first edition albums. Maybe he'd let you take a look."

"Really?"

It was funny how fast a switch could flip, and instead of a mildly offended fanboy she was faced with a star-struck puppy.

"Maybe...if you ask very nicely," she said in a voice far more seductive than necessary. Then, she chanced a glance at the clock, and her smile turned into a simper. "Sorry Freddie, but your five minutes of fame are up."

The guy looked genuinely concerned as he said, "My name's not Freddie."

"Hmmm isn't it?"

'Freddie' didn't argue as he left hot seat. He merely accepted his name change in exchange for the promise of touching dusty old records. Were these boys defective?

The next guy walking - no, _sauntering_ \- her way was unique for sure. He had more colors sewn into the pattern of his suit than a rainbow. His hair was long and wavy, reaching just past his shoulders, and his eyes were a vibrant green. He carried a book in his ringed hand, opening it and returning where he left off as soon as he had draped himself over the chair. He was reading _Antigone_, his pink-painted nails tapping on the worn cover.

The whole thing was so odd, it took a moment for Delia to reel in her thoughts.

"What's with the suit?"

He gave a glance at the bright paisley, then shrugged. "I like my clothes to have life."

"Obviously," Delia huffed. She was going to go blind looking at the ensemble. He seemed unfazed by the question, but Delia couldn't help but poke the bear. "Bit of a bold choice, don't you think?"

Bright suit man looked up from his book, giving Delia all his attention. However, the look on his face told Delia that was the opposite of what she wanted. He looked like he was studying her, scrutinizing her every detail.

"What is all this about?" he asked, green eyes focused on her with all the hardness of emeralds. "I've seen you. You've poked and prodded at all of us. What's the point?"

"I'm just having a bit of fun."

"There's a stark difference between having fun and making a fool of yourself." Bright suit man passed his judgement briskly and without emotion. He snapped his book closed, stood up, and smoothed down the fabric of his shirt. The way he looked at Delia, not angry like Elodie nor scandalized like so many other people, was pure disappointment. Like he had found exactly what he knew he would but didn't like it. "I think we've had enough fun for one day, don't you?"

The interview was over with four minutes to go.

Delia, who usually had a plethora of witty comebacks, didn't know what to say. She just watched him walk through the Men's Room and out the door.

Everyone's eyes were on her now, including the camera which were still rolling.

The entire nation just saw Delia get rejected on live television.

Great.


	12. The Thing About Sisters

The Thing About Sisters

A shiny black limousine with tinted windows pulled up to the end of Rodeo drive where Hayden stood, waiting. Right on time.

Adjusting her shopping bags, Hayden let the driver get out and open her door so she could slip in the back. She deposited the bags on the empty seat beside her, choosing to scoot as close as she could to the only other passenger in the vehicle.

Rhys took on one look at the collection of designer logos and rolled his eyes. Hayden had the urge to tell him to fuck off, that this was a lot less damage done to the royal credit card than her usual shopping binges, but she let it go. He had enough to worry about without wondering if Hayden was joking or if she was mad at him.

This wasn't just another regular social call. This was a specific social call.

They were on their way to meet Rhys' sister.

The thing about sisters was, going to meet Rhys' sister made Hayden miss her own. She had only just left Auden in Portugal, but the separation already felt like a year. It was wrong, unnatural to separate twins as much as they were right now. They had video chatted and texted every day, but it wasn't enough. Hayden missed Auden like a missing limb, the loss of her presence unable to be ignored.

Hayden twisted the fabric of her skirt between her fingers. Hopefully meeting Rhys' sister would soothe some of Hayden's longing. That, or it would make the ache for Auden worse.

"Relax. She's going to love you," Rhys said, ever calm and collected. He raised the back of Hayden's hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. The gesture soothed only a fraction of her nerves.

"How do you know?"

"Because I love you."

Hayden flushed scarlet, unable to continue to look into Rhys' dark, steadfast gaze. She knew he meant every word, but that didn't make them any easier to hear...or for anyone else to hear. Her eyes darted to the rearview mirror, where the driver's gaze remained focused on the road.

"I really wish you wouldn't say that."

Rhys only hummed, undeterred. She'd told him that dozens of times, and each time he continued to ignore her, ever defiant in the face of society.

That was the last they spoke until the car pulled up to the curb outside an upscale high-rise. Rhys was the first to get out, going over to Hayden's side and opening her door. She peered up through sunglass-clad lenses at the glass-front building, spotting movement and foliage some twenty stories up.

The doorman let them in without so much as a word, directing them towards the set of elevators. Just as Hayden thought, their end stop was the twentieth floor.

The restaurant was crowded, tables full of sophisticated people gathering for business meetings and afternoon tea. Waiters bustled around in their black and white attire, serving trays of cakes and sandwiches on fine china and champagne that cost hundreds of dollars a bottle. No one paid another sophisticated couple any mind as they wove their way through the dining room to the outside patio. The weather was unnaturally balmy for the season, a perfect autumnal day that begged to be enjoyed. Everyone seemed to have that thought, the patio just as crowded as the dining room.

Hayden had no idea where to start looking. Thankfully, Rhys had sharper eyes, waving towards the table in the far corner. A woman around Hayden's age stood as she saw them approach, white fur shawl slipping off slim shoulders to reveal a little black dress, the same shade as the curls that fell down her back. Hayden could see the family resemblance; this woman was a carbon copy of Rhys save for one, distinct feature: intense, green eyes that pierced Hayden's the moment they landed on her.

"So good to see you," Rhys greeted, leaning in to place a kiss to both of his sister's cheeks.

"When big brother comes calling, how could I resist?"

Her voice was like silk and honey, full of humor yet Hayden knew she would never be able to tell if she was joking.

Those green eyes returned to Hayden, assessing her with a perfunctory brutality.

"Vesper, this is Hayden. Hayden, this is my sister, Vesper."

"I know who you are," Vesper said. There was no lean in for a hug, no kisses to cheeks, no joking tone even if she was perfectly polite. "You're the woman my brother refuses to shut up about."

Something warm fluttered in the pit of Hayden's stomach. Rhys talked about her? Often? It seemed so out of character. And yet, the tips of Rhys' ears had gone bright red with embarrassment, called out.

Vesper continued her silent assessment, eyes flickering between her brother and Hayden. What she was thinking, Hayden could not guess. Rhys looked downright nervous despite his assurances that Hayden would be loved.

And then, the mood shifted.

"I can certainly see the appeal," Vesper said, relaxing her stance.

Hayden passed whatever standards Vesper held, and both she and Rhys let out a silent breath of relief.

The three of them sat back down at the table and Vesper waved over a waiter, ordering them tea and sandwiches of their own. She had a cup of coffee - black, Hayden noted - red-rimmed with lipstick stains though still steaming with remnants of heat. Vesper could not have been waiting for them long. How she was not sweating between the furs and the coffee was a mystery.

"So, Rhys tells me that you're in to design."

"Interior design is one of my passions, among other things. Just last month I refurbished Angelina Malik-Devore's Angeles penthouse. I assume you are familiar?"

"Yes. I am vaguely familiar."

Hayden tried not to let the name sour her mood, but it was hard to hear about the bitchy mother of the bitchy woman who was sleeping her way through Hayden's family...and her family's pocket book. Rhys was familiar too, shooting Vesper a look that said 'bring that name up again, and this meeting is over'. Vesper probably didn't know that she was stepping on a sore subject, but took the non-verbal cue with grace.

"It was such an intense remodel - all clean lines and sharp surfaces. I'm all for a modern, cutting edge feel. Once it's over, I find it's hard to let go after pouring so much of myself into a space. I'm like that with fashion as well."

"You are a fashion designer?"

"Not at all. But from time to time I am consulted by Hauses for their more abstract projects."

The way Vesper pitched the idea was very nonchalant, like it was not an important undertaking to co-construct an entire season of fashion wear. But the pride that lingered in her carriage cued Hayden in that yes, it was a very big deal for Vesper indeed. She did so many important, impressive things for important, impressive people. And that's when it hit Hayden that Vesper was not trying to intimidate her...she was trying to impress _her_.

That changed everything.

Hayden relaxed, leaning back in her chair. The new angle made the sunlight catch and sparkle on the intricate silver chain around Vesper's wrist.

"Oh, I love your bracelet!"

"Thank you," Vesper said, turning over her delicate wrist as she admired her accessory. "Louis is so last season. Anyone who is anyone knows it is Chanel or nothing."

"That's exactly what I say!"

"Rhys, you never told me that your Hayden was a woman of taste," Vesper teased her brother with a playful swat. Then, she turned her attention back to Hayden, giving her a smile. "I think you and I are going to get along very well."

"Vesper has a very discerning eye," Rhys interjected, something conspiratorial in his smile. "She's been matching my socks to my belt ever since I was a child."

"Ha ha, you make it sound so simple," Vesper jabbed back, rolling her eyes. "This one wouldn't know a Windsor from a Pratt had it not been for me."

Hayden laughed along, looking fondly at Rhys. "What, your father didn't teach you?"

The way the mood immediately sobered let Hayden know that was the wrong thing to say. Rhy's face clouded over, dark storm clouds making him look angry. He glared into his cup, his lips twisting into a mockery of the smile he previously wore.

"He didn't really have time to be a father between all the drinking and the dealing."

Vesper cut Rhys a hard, disapproving look. "Our father took the loss of our mother..._poorly_. You can hardly blame him - "

"He didn't want us," Rhys hissed, something hateful seething from his aura, tainting the space by opening a wound that spanned a lifetime. "After all this time, I can't believe you still give him the benefit of the doubt."

"He's our_ father_."

"August Illéa is my father!" Rhys' voice was loud, far louder than any of them liked. It was drawing attention from other tables, the unwanted kind. The kind that started rumors. Hayden tugged gently on Rhys's sleeve, reminding him of where they were, what they risked to lose should someone pry a little too closely. Rhys composed himself, his anger simmering down to just below the surface. He lowered his voice and repeated, "August Illéa is my father, and Georgia Illéa is my mother. They're the ones who raised me, who raised _us_. As far as I'm concerned, Marid Illéa is just the man who left us on their doorstep when he decided having two children wasn't worth his precious time."

The tension around them was so strong, Hayden could hardly breathe. She didn't dare move, lest she spark another outburst from either Vesper or Rhys. They both stared each other down, glaring daggers so sharp she was surprised neither flinched. It hurt to see Rhys hurting, and it was uncomfortable to see Vesper hurting as well. She could tell this was an old fight, one that was not going to be resolved today, nor any day in the foreseeable future.

And then, Vesper let out a long exhale, lowering her gaze as the first to come to her senses. She shook her head, and pushed a strand of black hair behind her ear before speaking to Hayden.

"I apologize for my brother's display. I hope he isn't always this much of an ass."

Hayden shook her head rapidly. "No, I shouldn't have - "

"It's not your fault," Rhys insisted, now eons tired. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. "Vesper's right, I acted out of line. We are supposed to be having a fun outing, and I dragged it through the mud with all the family baggage. Forgive me?"

Rhys looked genuinely contrite, his wounded puppy eyes wide and seeking absolution.

"There's nothing to forgive," Hayden said with a tiny smile. That seemed to relieve some of the haunted look in Rhys' eyes, but not all of it.

Vesper straightened up in her chair and took a sip of her tea, as composed as she was when she first sat down. "You and I will continue to remain on different sides of this argument, but I forgive you...on one condition."

"Oh, and what's that?"

"You let me take your darling Hayden out on the town. Just the two of us, like a girls day."

Out of all the things Vesper could have said, Hayden could tell that this was one of the last things Rhys expected. He looked gobsmacked, his mouth actually gaping for a moment, as if he couldn't fathom the idea of his sister and his lover spending one on one time. Hayden wanted to be offended, but as far as she knew, she was the first woman to ever meet any member of his family. This was new and unprecedented to all of them.

"I don't know..."

"Come on," Vesper sighed, pretending to be put out. Only the smirk playing at her lips gave her away. "You can't possibly expect me to bond with the woman you want to spend the rest of your life with while you're breathing down our necks."

Rhys looked absolutely lost. Then, he turned to Hayden.

"What do you think?"

"I think it sounds like a wonderful idea," Hayden said, and meaning it too. She wanted nothing more than to understand this person who was fundamental in shaping Rhys into the man she held so near and dear. "What, are you afraid that she will spill your deepest, darkest secrets?"

"Something like that..." Rhys trailed off, the look he gave his sister nothing short of skeptical.

"All the more reason to go!" Hayden insisted, bold with her newfound amusement in Rhys' discomfort. "This is happening whether you like it or not."

"I suppose I can't stop you."

"You can try, but I would not advise it," Vesper warned, and there it was again, that unreadable tone. She cast one more glance between the two of them before standing up and gathering her fur coat. "Now, I really must be going. Things to do, places to be. But this was nice. We should do it again."

"Definitely," Hayden said. The smile Vesper gave her in return was warm, and Hayden harbored a small hope that maybe, just maybe, she had succeeded in endearing herself to Rhys' sister.

"Good to see you," Rhys said as he stood, kissing his sister goodbye.

Unlike their greeting, this time, Hayden did get an embrace from Vesper. Her grip was like a vice, thin arms holding Hayden close to the point of discomfort. And Vesper was cold, her skin chilled despite lingering in the sun.

"I'll send you my schedule," Vesper said as she pulled away. "Pick a day and I am yours."

Vesper shouldered her purse and exited the cafe, weaving through the crowded dining room until her furs could no longer be seen. Rhys let out an exaggerated breath, sinking back into his chair in a way that was unbecoming of a gentleman, legs splayed and coat jacket open. He called over the waiter and ordered a glass of top shelf brandy, not caring that it was only eleven in the morning. Hayden fixed him a curious look.

"Did that go well?"

"As well as it could have gone, I suppose."

That did nothing to soothe the worry that now resided in Hayden's mind. Rhys did not look like the meeting went well. He looked positively drained.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Just...Vesper always seems to know how to bring out the worst in me."

"You're siblings. It's basically a right of passage," Hayden assured, waving away what she saw as a trivial worry. "I've lost count of how many times I've lost my cool around Delia, and that's only this week."

"You've only just got back from Portugal," Rhys reminded, a bit of his usual wry humor slipping into his voice. That was more like it.

"And?" she teased as she cradled her lukewarm tea.

"And I know you. You care about Delia, even if you won't admit it."

"Just like you care about Vesper, even when she gets under your skin."

"Touché." Rhys looked down into the swirling amber of his glass, worry furrowing his brow. "Just...promise me you'll be careful around her."

"Why?" Hayden was genuinely confused. Was Rhys having second thoughts about Hayden knowing his family. He was a notoriously private person for a reason; it had taken her forever to even get Vesper's name out of him, and even longer to wheedle out this meeting. She knew that Rhys didn't mesh with his family, and now Hayden knew exactly how far that went, but she really thought she had made progress. "It was your idea that we meet."

"That's when I thought meeting meant one short conversation over tea, not her spiriting you off to God knows where to do God knows what."

"So she can take me to her evil lair and enact her plan for world domination?" Hayden joked, hoping to lighten the mood. He was speaking of Vesper as if she were some kind of Bond villain or wicked witch. Sure, she might have been cold and a little standoffish, but that was to be expected when you were born to a name as infamous as theirs.

"You joke, but she's an Illéa," Rhys said, his voice containing a bitter, resigned edge. "Illéas cannot be trusted."

Hayden's heart squeezed in her chest. Is that what Rhys thought she thought of his sister, of_ him_? That his last name immediately meant he could never be trusted?

She placed a hand over top of Rhys', giving it a squeeze. "I trust_ you_."

The bitterness came back in full force as Rhys scoffed, "And look at all the good it's done you."

"Hey, look at me." Hayden's tone was soft but commanding, her royal training put to use. Rhys was reluctant to meet her eyes, as if he didn't want her comfort, but she wasn't letting him off that easily. "I don't regret a thing."

"Yes you do. Otherwise you would let me say I lo- "

Hayden raised a finger to Rhys' lips, silencing the words she knew were coming. Rhys gripped her wrist, gentle yet firm, moving her finger away. The way he looked at her, like she was slipping from his grasp though he held her right there, spoke volumes.

"Exactly."

One last word, and it hit like a punch to the gut. Hayden wished she could take her hand back, erase the last few hours of their lives, but she couldn't. The damage was done.

"Are you mad at me?" she asked, fearful she had ruined everything.

"No. Not you, Princess. Never you." The defeat in his voice said otherwise. He didn't even look at Hayden as he offered her his arm, staring somewhere past her shoulder, out into the crowd. "Come on, let's get you home before someone notices."


	13. The Thing About Fairytales

_Short were the hours which were so gayly passed,_  
_When, Love, in thee my trust I fondly placed;_  
_Possessed of all my soul desired to taste,_  
_I careless deemed they would for ever last._

_\- Cláudio Manoel da Costa_

* * *

The Thing about Fairytales

The thing about fairytales was, Auden was living one.

She used to not believe in all that nonsense about Prince Charmings and true love and happily ever afters, which seemed like exactly the kind of thing a girl like her would be into. But no, even from a young age her practical mind always saw the logistical side of things, always saw how much work went into maintaining her parent's and sister's relationships and how even the best of intentions could lead to the most disastrous of results. Going into her arrangement, Auden did not expect to be swept off her feet and fall head over heels for a man she had never met.

Which was why it was so surprising it was happening to her now.

Dorian was...perfect. She was loathe to say it as they had only been acquainted the better part of a week, but Auden knew she was falling hopelessly in love with this adorkable mess of a prince. If Hayden could see Auden now, she would not recognize her twin. Between all the moony-eyed looks and rendez-vous by the fountain where they first stumbled into each other, Hayden would be positively sickened by Auden's behavior. Auden was sickened by herself at times, catching herself blushing at something Dorian said or remembering something endearing he had done. It was all like something out of a dream.

But every fairytale needed a good, old-fashioned villain, and Auden's fairytale's villain was none other than Queen Amantia herself.

That was not a kind thing to say. Queen Amantia was not a villain, but she was doing her damnedest to make Auden feel like an outsider at all times. As much as Dorian told her that his mother would eventually warm up to her, Auden could not bring herself to believe it. Queen Amantia was cold on her best days and downright austere on her worst. Nothing Auden did was impressive; nothing Auden said was welcome. The few dinners Queen Amantia deigned to attend had quickly become painfully quiet, tense affairs, while Dorian remained blissfully unaware of what was unfolding between the women in his life.

Auden had no idea how a woman like the queen had produced such a blissfully happy son. The two were night and day.

For example, the meeting they were at now. What was supposed to be a simple conversation regarding the engagement announcement had quickly turned hostile. Apparently Queen Amantia had arranged an entire parade to happen after the announcement, complete with a military procession and stagecoach pulled by four white horses. Like this was the middle ages. And only Auden seemed to have a problem with this.

"Wouldn't it be a better use of resources if we held off on the pomp and circumstance, at least until the wedding?"

Wide eyes of a dozen council members fixed Auden with appalled looks. She might as well have insulted everyone's mother.

Queen Amantia's scowl deepened further than usual. "The parade is tradition. The people will expect it."

"Yes, but - " Auden bit down hard on her bottom lip, thinking of the best way to explain how the country's economy had been slowly taking a turn for the worse, and that any and all frivolous expenditures would turn that slope into a freefall into the red. Somehow, Auden knew that Queen Amantia would not take an explanation of her country's financial woes any better than Auden spitting in the face of tradition. "Surely I'm not worth all that."

"We would not want the King of Illéa to think that his daughter did not receive the warmest of welcomes to our humble country."

The word humble came out more like a curse, and Auden had to remind herself that the queen was not a mind reader even if her glare was deathly enough to make Auden think so.

"There is no need to impress me further. I already feel like Cinderella with her Prince Charming."

Auden hoped the reference would please the queen. She hoped in vain.

"All the more reason to proceed with the parade then."

Queen Amantia was a proud woman. She was not going to give an inch on the matter, and that was final. And so, Auden sighed and resigned herself to a parade that probably cost more than what it took to power the capital for a day.

Back home, her father would have taken her request seriously. He would have listened, or at least Elodie would have. Her opinion mattered. What she wanted mattered. And usually, her opinion was a good one. Usually, when she had her say in things, things turned out for the better.

_This is not your country_, Auden reminded herself, trying not to get frustrated at her lack of say over anything. _Not yet_.

Maybe, once she and Dorian were married and she was a Princess of Portugal and not a Princess of Illéa, Queen Amanita might take her seriously.

Maybe.

The way the queen refused to look in Auden's direction for the rest of the meeting told a different story. And when the meeting finally released, Queen Amantia did not even give Auden a perfunctory nod before she stormed out of the room in a cloud of black skirts. Auden tried not to let that get to her, or let herself believe that this was a bad omen for the rest of her life. It would be a terrible fate to love a man with her entire heart but have that love ruined by his bitch of a mother.

Unfortunately, that was looking to be her future unless something drastic changed. And quickly.

"I don't understand why she would agree to our arrangement if she hates me so much," Auden lamented as soon as Dorian was within earshot. Dorian had spent most of the meeting silently nodding and humming along...and never vocally speaking out against his mother even when his face grew pinched at the word parade. It was part of the reason Auden chose to bring it up in the first place.

"She does not hate you." Auden fixed Dorian with a disbelieving look, to which he only continued to smile and raised his hands in appeasement. "She just does not know you. And she is terribly suspicious of outsiders. Which is everyone who is not me."

Great. Her future mother-in-law was the paranoid type.

"To be fair, you don't really know me either."

"I know enough," Dorian replied, unbothered. "I know that you are a kind woman. A good woman. Exactly the kind of woman I will spend every day grateful to be married to."

Auden's heart did a little flip in her chest. Still, she had to know - "You don't think I'm pushy or annoying or filling Portugal with unwanted Illéan ideas?"

"I like your ideas. Mother never tells me hers. It is refreshing to be included," Dorian said, honest in his earnest. It made Auden sad for him, that his mother apparently kept him away from the boardroom, away from the politics and the day to day running of the country that would one day be his. Maybe her intentions weren't malicious, but could she not see that Dorian was eager and willing to get involved? "Besides, I agree with you, if that makes you feel any better."

"You do?"

"I hate parades. Any public function, really," he confessed, fiddling with his fingers, mouth twisted down as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. "They feel so fake, so staged. I do not want anything about us to be fake."

Auden took his fingers and laced them through hers, stilling them.

"Neither do I."

Dorian looked down at their hands and then at Auden, something soft and wondering in his eyes.

"Am I really?"

"Really what?"

"Your Prince Charming?"

Auden smiled wide and bright, nodding her head as she leaned up to press a kiss to Dorian's cheek. Dorian flushed a bright pink, ridiculously pleased.

"I have something to show you."

He tugged her wrist, moving Auden down the hall.

She arched a brow. "Oh?"

"This way."

Auden let herself be led down the hall, down many halls, and up stairs. It felt like they climbed at least four stories, higher than Auden thought the palace went. She had never been in these parts of the palace before, dimly lit places with layers of dust that felt older than the rest. There was a distinct feeling of trespassing, like this was a place she was firmly not supposed to be. But Dorian kept smiling like everything was find, leading them higher and higher still.

Then, there was light. Light pouring through windows large enough to be doors, casting the floors in the orange light of the sunset.

Dorian pushed the windows open, panes creaking from age, and climbed out. He beckoned for Auden to follow, hand outstretched. Despite the insanity of the situation, Auden trusted that hand implicitly. Dorian wouldn't lead her into anything dangerous. He wouldn't let her fall.

The roof here was flat enough to walk on without fear of slipping. However, the view was worth the risk of slipping. For a moment, Auden forgot how to breathe as she took in the wide expanse of lush forest spread out below her. And further in the distance, the lights of the city just beginning to flicker into existence.

"Your mother is going to kill us if she finds out."

"She never comes up here," Dorian said, his smile sad around the edges. "This used to be my father's favorite spot, or so mother tells me. He would come here to think, or to read, or just to be. I feel close to him here."

Dorian hadn't spoken of his father before now. Queen Amantia had failed to mention the king as well, both of them pretending he never existed. Auden knew how to read a room; she deduced the topic was a sore one, one that opened old wounds instead of soothed them. So she kept her curious questions to herself. And she would continue to keep the questions to herself, letting Dorian set the pace. She didn't have to know everything now. After all, she had their whole lives to find out.

Auden wove her fingers through Dorian's, her anchor as the wind tried to blow them away.

"I have never wanted to bring anyone else up here," he admitted quietly, like had not meant to say it.

Fingers tightened for a fraction of a second, a squeeze in support. Auden knew how much that meant. "Thank you."

There were lips on the crown of her head, on her temple, on her cheek. Dorian was so affectionate; it made Auden content in a way she had never felt before. She didn't even know this kind of casual intimacy was something she wanted until she had it. After only a week of having it, she didn't know if she could go back to a life without it.

"I was looking around the library and found some poems..." Dorian trailed off, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a small, ratty book. Auden shouldn't call it ratty. Well-loved was more like it, the spine cracked open to the point of showing the seams. "May I read them to you?"

Auden nodded. Dorian managed to find the most beautiful things to read to her, even if she did not yet have a grasp on the language. He opened to a random page, fingers tracing over the lines he wanted.

_"Breves horas, Amor, há, que eu gozava, A glória, que minha alma apetecia; E sem desconfiar da aleivosia, Teu lisonjeiro obséquio acreditava..."_

The poem went on for a few more stanzas, melodic words filling the space between them. One stuck out, the only word Auden had any confidence in recognizing: Amor. Love. Dorian was reading her love poems. Something warm spread through her chest, effervescent and light, filling her so completely she thought she would burst from it.

It was still too soon to say it plainly. A week was hardly a realistic amount of time to know what love was. But still, looking down at the concentrated furrow of Dorian's brow, the way his glasses slipped perilously close to the tip of his nose, the way his lips curved up into those beautiful words meant just for her, Auden knew.

_Yes, I could love this man forever._


	14. The Thing About Ballet

A/N: TW in this chapter for brief bits of abusive/manipulative relationships.

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The Thing About Ballet

The thing about ballet was, Kase knew nothing about it.

Sure, he had a picture in his head of girls in tutus standing on their tip toes twirling in circles, but he had no idea how much _work_ actually went into pulling off a production. He sure as hell wasn't expecting for Neelam to come tearing into his bedroom and ripping off the sheets to wake him before the sun rose despite his numerous protests that it was not seven yet. That meant nothing to Neelam. Apparently there was an emergency that required their immediate attention and there was no getting out of it no matter how much Kase grumped.

Which was how he found himself half-dead and hopped up on caffeine, carting large boxes of fake foliage backstage to avoid Neelam's wrath onstage when two familiar faces showed up.

"Oncle Kasssse!" Manon cried, running as fast as her little feet could carry her. She lisped on all her s-es, so what really came out sounded more like "Oncle Kathhhe!"

Kase dropped the box he was holding immediately, not caring if whatever was inside was fragile or not. He had a Manon to pick up and spin around, her shrieking giggles a better pick-me-up than anything he could have asked for.

"Look at you! So big!" He tickled her leotard-clad stomach just to hear her laugh some more.

"Do you like my tutu Oncle Kase?"

The tutu in question was a huge sparkly thing only eclipsed in size by the kinky curls of her hair, a tutu that could not have possibly been up to Neelam's strict dress code. But it was Manon's, so it was perfect.

"I love it," Kase said, making sure that Manon could see just how serious he was. "You are gonna be the prettiest ballerina in the show."

"Recital, Oncle Kase," Manon corrected, ever knowing all. "It's called a recital."

"Okay smarty pants." Kase let Manon down so that he could talk to her properly. "What part are you playing in this _recital_?"

"I'm gonna be a snowflake!"

"A snowflake who is in trouble for not waiting for her father like she was told."

Henri walked leisurely up the center aisle and up the side steps to the stage, shaking his head at his daughter. He looked like a man who had found himself in this situation one too many times to count and had long since given up being angry about it.

"Sorry Papa."

Manon didn't look too sorry, but her pouty bottom lip and wide brown eyes made it impossible for her to stay in trouble for long.

"I need all ballerinas stage left _s'il vous plaît_!"

Neelam's voice carried across the stage and all the way down the aisles so that it was impossible not to have heard the call to action. Manon squealed with excitement, bouncing up and down before dashing off faster than Henri could catch her. If this was how hard it was to wrangle Manon now, there were bad times in store for Henri and Elyan's future. But Kase kept his mouth shut, smirking at Henri's expression of pure exasperation. Some things were better left discovered at their own pace.

"Did Neelam coerce you into helping as well?" Kase asked. Henri wasn't exactly dressed for manual labor, not with his classic black suit and thick black coat on top. Kase looked like a hoodlum in comparison with his oversized sweatshirt and worn jeans.

"No, just dropping Manon off for practice."

Kase was confused. "Not to be insensitive, but I thought the recital was for the Rambouillet Children's Home?"

"It is. But Manon...well..." Henri shrugged his shoulders, and that was all he needed to do to get the point across. "_Les Reines_ pulled some strings and had her included."

"I don't blame them. Who could say no to that face?"

No one could ever say no to Manon. Mostly because to say no to Manon meant to endure a temper tantrum so legendary that it could be heard across the Atlantic.

"Certainly not me." Henri, the man who could take down hardened criminals and had probably looked Satan in the eye without flinching, balked at the idea of crossing his three-foot tall daughter. "Elyan has some success...sometimes."

"She didn't want to come see her little snowflake off to rehearsal?"

"_Sa Majesté_ has her working on a housing project. It has been occupying most of her time."

"What? Is Versailles getting a face lift? Maybe a coffee shop?"

Henri's lips quirked up a hair, the closest thing to a smile Kase ever saw. "Something like that."

Damn, Kase forgot how frustratingly vague Henri could be.

The phone in Kase's pocket vibrated, distracting him from further interrogating Henri. Henri didn't seem to mind, silently sneaking towards the exit, his mission of delivering his daughter to rehearsal on time complete. The phone continued to vibrate as Kase fumbled for it. Great! So a call, not a text. Who the hell was using international minutes to call him?

The call dropped as soon as the screen lit up, going to voicemail. Just his luck. Plus said missed call and now current voicemail were from Elodie. Double his luck.

Ten minutes prior to the call (when he was busy spinning Manon) Elodie had sent him a single text: _Have you seen this?_

Attached was a link to an article from one of the more credible international tabloids. The title read: _A Royal Nightmare! Russian Princess Alexandrina Spills Dirty Details on Split with Illéan Bad Boy Prince Kasey._

What. The. Fuck.

Shaking fingers pressed on the link. He didn't want to know. He really didn't want to know whatever it was that Drina had said about them. Whatever she felt, whatever she thought was happening, Kase didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to see it. He didn't -

He couldn't stop himself from reading. As much as it hurt, as much as the printed words twisted into his gut like a knife, he kept reading.

Words swam off the page, terrible words that painted him in unflattering lights. Words like _neglectful_ and _closed-off_ and _moody_ that made him sound like he beat Drina or kept her trapped in a room by herself with no one else to love her or pay her attention. Words that made him feel dirty and angry and so so small. Words that made him feel just like Felix.

Kase wasn't Felix. Kase was nothing like that slime ball with his lies and his mistress and his bruises left on Elodie's body that she thought no one could see. Kase never laid a hand on Drina. He never raised his voice to her. Never did anything half as bad as Felix.

He wasn't an abusive boyfriend. He just forgot her birthday, okay?

So then why did this article make him feel no better than the abuser living in his house?

Giggles drew him from his panic, the innocent laughter of children ringing starkly different from the self-loathing he was spinning in his mind, reminding him that now was not the time and here was not the place to have a meltdown. He couldn't go off with these kids around. Tiny, innocent kids. Certain kids whom he _loved _and whom he would traumatize if he let out the scream building in the back of his throat.

Manon couldn't see him like this. Manon _could not_ see him like this.

Kase flipped up the hood on his hoodie and ran onstage to take the side stairs up the aisle and out the door, aware that his footsteps were heavy and had drawn the attention from all the ballerinas stage left. He could feel Neelam's eyes on the back of his head, dark and heavy with worry even if he couldn't see them. He'd done this certain song and dance around her before. She knew what it meant.

"Everyone say _au revoir_ to _le petit prince_!" Neelam sing-songed to the children who chorused a loud litany of_ au revoirs_ to his retreating back. Not that Kase could hear them over the ringing in his ears.

Outside, the sun hung high and bright in the sky. It was shaping up to be a beautifully clear day, the kind of day to enjoy to the fullest. Kase thought it was hateful. It should be storming. It should be pouring buckets while thunder rumbled and lighting struck the ground at his feet. That would be fitting weather, weather to match how he was feeling on the inside.

Instead, all he got were chipper _bonjours _as he kept his head down and walked purposefully away from the conservatory. Kase didn't know where he was headed. He had no idea why he was walking in the first place. He just knew he had to get far far away. Away from what was the question.

Kase didn't know how long he had been walking - long enough for his heel to start to chafe against the back of his shoe but not long enough to cause any cramps in his calves - when he noticed a black limousine trailing behind him. They weren't even being discreet about it, not bothering to put more than six feet of distance between the front of the car and his spot on the sidewalk.

Kase rolled his eyes. Leave it to Neelam to call in the babysitter to come and fetch him. It was probably Henri driving too, though usually he was a lot more subtle about his creeping. He wasn't a child. He could come and go as he pleased, and he didn't appreciate being spied on when he wanted to be alone.

Fuck this game of cat and mouse.

He stopped in his tracks, even more irritated when the car kept inching closer until there was no distance between them at all. The car came to stop at the curb just beside Kase, black tinted windows making it impossible to see who was inside. Not that Kase didn't already know.

Two aggressive knocks with the side of his fist against the passenger side window ought to get Gen's attention. The window rolled down at a snail's pace, but Kase's mouth was already out the gait at the first crack.

"You don't have to keep tabs on me like a fucking child - "

"Well that's good to know."

Kase's blood ran cold.

That wasn't Gen.

Kase knew that voice. He knew that voice intimately well. He _hated_ that voice.

Against his better judgement, Kase looked at the woman through the window. She looked just like she did the last time he saw her from afar, sneaking out of the palace at three in the morning on a Tuesday, Felix not even bothering to save his little indiscretions for the weekend. Her dark hair was perfectly curled and thrown over her shoulder, little black dress clinging to all the right curves, lipstick red as a fresh kill against her tanned skin. Kase was a terrible person for still finding her beautiful. Kase was going Hell for that long-buried piece of his soul that still wanted her.

"Brayden," Kase seethed, gripping the edge of the window so tightly he was surprised the glass didn't shatter. Brayden didn't fail to notice either.

"Get in the car, Kasey. We have a lot to talk about."

Was she joking? She had to be joking. After everything she had done to him and his family, she wanted him to get in her car? But the car remained parked and she had even scooted over so that the space she had previously occupied by the window was available to him. She didn't look at him, didn't even deign to tell him twice, her sunglass-covered gaze focused on her immaculate manicure.

Kase didn't know what came over him - maybe insanity, maybe the sudden bloodlust to have her head on a spike - but he got in the car. God help him, he put himself in a moving vehicle with the most evil creature on the planet. But that didn't mean he had to like it, his fists clenched on his thighs as he kept as much distance between himself and Brayden as possible. He had to have looked like a pissed, cornered animal, but Brayden didn't seem to care. She had always had a bit too big of a flair for danger for his liking.

Silence stretched into an uncomfortable tension as the car started moving. He tried to tell himself that he was fine staring out the window and ignoring the demon seated across from him. He tried to tell himself that he could remain in control.

He was a damn liar.

"Why the hell are you in Paris? Shouldn't you be busy destroying my family?"

The words were vicious and meant to sting. Because they were for Brayden, she laughed instead. She pushed her sunglasses atop her hair, her brown eyes just as dark and cunning as Kase remembered as she rolled them in his direction.

"Felix isn't interested right now. He's obsessing over his little wifey, positively fuming about the man she's been hanging around recently. It's annoying. I'm starting to think he still loves her."

"I sure fucking hope not. She deserves better," Kase growled, staring daggers into Brayden. "And you two deserve each other."

"You don't know whether to kiss me or kill me. How _sweet,_" she simpered with a sly smile, amused at his conflict, like she knew exactly what kind of reaction he would have by showing her face in what was supposed to be his safe space. "Come on now, we had some good times. Some really good times, if I recall."

"That was a long time ago. I might as well be a different person. You sure are."

"Don't be like that. It doesn't suit you to wallow in self-pity," she chided, a frown pulling at her surgically-enhanced lips. Only the best royal money could buy for the Prince Consort's mistress. "You upgraded after our break up too. You got yourself a princess, or at least you did before you fucked it all up. I read the exposé. _Très_ scandalous."

Just the thought of the article made Kase nauseous. And the fact that Brayden of all people read it? That she probably laughed at it? Probably jumped on a group chat and talked about it, about _him_, with all her vapid, evil friends? That was too much, too much, _too much_.

Kase clenched his jaw so hard his teeth hurt. "You didn't come all this way to rub my breakup in my face."

"No, I came all this way to have the paps catch me out on the town, living my best life, and remind Felix what he's missing. But this..._you_...I might have found something even better."

Now Kase was nauseous for a whole different reason. "I'm not letting you use me to make Felix jealous. You've used me enough, don't you think?"

Brayden pouted. "When you put it like that, you make me sound so heartless."

"If the shoe fits..."

The car slowed down and pulled off to a stop. Kase didn't even know where Brayden had taken him. It didn't matter. He wanted out of this car. He could make his way back to the conservatory on his own. He just needed to get out first.

"I want you to take me to the charity dance recital."

Kase's hand stilled on the handle.

"Why on God's green earth would I do that?" he spat, unable to keep his cool any longer. Brayden had some kind of nerve asking him something like that. He also didn't like that it implied that she would be staying in Paris to haunt him for the foreseeable future.

"Because you have nothing to lose and no one around who understands you like I do," she said, her voice sweet as honey, a spider lying in wait to trap a fly in her web. A hand reached over and landed on his thigh, a tight grip digging into denim-clad skin that stung just as much as her words. "Because deep down you want to show Alexandrina what she's missing. You want to make her hurt the way you're hurting about the exposé. And well, if Felix is busy chasing after me, then it gives your sister plenty of time to chase after that governor boy toy she's so desperately in love with." Brayden leaned forward, red lips brushing over the shell of Kase's ear. Since when had she gotten so close? His skin crawled. He tried not to shiver. "Isn't that what you want, Kasey? For your sister to be happy?"

Kase jumped out of the car.

He couldn't breathe. Not with her lips on his ear and her claws in his thigh and her perfume swirling sickeningly sweet in his nose. The air outside was clearer, crisper, with the smell of asphalt and street food and the sweat of too many bodies. Kase held himself steady with one hand on the roof of the car, bent at the waist as he tried to slow his breathing and clear his mind.

Logically he knew what Brayden was selling was bullshit. There was no way in any world that taking Brayden to the recital would have a good outcome for anyone. It was a disaster waiting to happen. But a terrible, hopeful part of him couldn't help but think...Elodie could be happy. He could make Elodie happy. He hadn't made her happy in _so long_...

And then - and then there were nails, long nails scratching down his back in the way he used to like. A barely there pressure that used to melt all his worries away, focusing his world down to a singular thing, a singular _person_.

Kase's breath shuddered, his defenses failing him alongside common sense.

"Fine. I'll take you to the recital."

He cringed as soon as the words were out his mouth. He cursed his weakness. He cursed Brayden for still knowing exactly how to find them.

"Oh Kasey - " Brayden purred like the cat who got the cream. She took one step forward and he took three back.

"But this - " he cut her off mercilessly, gesturing between the two of them. " - means nothing. After the recital, I never want to speak to you again."

Brayden didn't look bothered. She pushed her oversized sunglasses back over her eyes, opened her car door, and slid inside. "Believe that if you want. But you and I? Our paths are intertwined forever."

Her door slammed shut and the car drove off, leaving Kase in the dust.


	15. The Thing About Meetings

A/N: Throwback references to TBaH in this chapter! I love the chapters when I get to be a little nostalgic. Hope you all enjoy!

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The Thing About Meetings

The things about meetings was, Elodie was always early.

She had her whole day planned down the the minute and stuck to it. Every phone call, every conference, every meeting was neatly penned into her schedule at least two weeks in advance so she could dedicate the necessary amount of time to getting ready. And when it came to the day of, she was always the first person in the room and the last to leave. Always.

Which was why she was currently tripping over her feet trying not to have a heart attack as her watch screamed five minutes until her next meeting while she was still pulling on her shoes.

Elodie was _late_.

Elodie was _never_ late.

And yet, there she was, throwing herself together like a mad woman and trying not to spill her coffee as she ran down the halls to the council room.

There was nothing different in her routine, nothing out of the ordinary. Her alarm went off at the same time. Janus sat on her chest and meowed his demands for food until she got up and poured the good wet stuff into his bowl. Her assistant came in and ran down the list of the day's events. And yet, somehow all that time got lost in translation. Elodie snapped out of her funk only to find herself staring at her bedraggled reflection, counting the number of faint finger-print shaped welts on her cheek, foundation brush in hand and not a single stroke of make up applied with ten minutes to go until she had to be up and moving.

Lord only knew what her face looked like. Whatever it was, it couldn't be worse than Delia's bangs.

She was so distracted securing the strap around her left ankle that she ran smack into someone twice her size.

Elodie and her papers went flying.

"I'm so sorry, Your Highness," he apologized, reaching out to steady her. The guy looked genuinely regretful, dark eyes wide and panicked. He was dressed far too casually to be part of the council or staff, so that really only left one other option: Selected. The doctor, if she recalled correctly. Which also explained the look of mild terror. Maybe he thought that bowling the princess over got him a one way ticket back home.

"No, it's fine. I should watch where I'm walking."

Elodie wouldn't blame this innocent stranger for her own distractedness. She needed to get herself together, get her head back in the game.

The stranger bent down and helped pick up her scattered files. The papers really did fly everywhere, completely out of order. Elodie could feel her temple pound at the idea of sorting back through them. But what was one more inconvenience at this point?

"Are those for the Hope Foundation?" The guy asked as he looked more closely at the file in his hand, the words out of his mouth before he could stop them. And he looked like he wanted to stop them. "Sorry, I shouldn't have looked."

"It's fine. The Queen is in the middle of planning their annual banquet," Elodie replied, more curious that he knew his stuff than irritated at his reading private documents. The Hope Foundation was large, but it wasn't the most prominent non-profit. Most people preferred to donate to cancer research or retired fire fighters pensions, not to kids with mental and/or developmental problems. Even though the castes had long been dissolved, sometimes the stigma of an Eight still stuck. "You've heard of it?"

"I volunteer with them from time to time. It's a great organization."

"It is," Elodie agreed, approving of his charitable habits. This guy's attention, however, was still focused on the papers in Elodie's hands, his gaze a little less than enthusiastic. "But it looks like you have something you want to say."

"It's really not my place - "

"It's okay. Go ahead, please."

He looked uncomfortable, torn between keeping his mouth shut and speaking his mind. Elodie could see the moment that speaking his mind won.

"Alright. Well...the Hope Foundation is founded on pillars of outreach and education, but you just seemed surprised that I even knew about it, which is pretty telling. The advertisement and advocacy really needs to be stepped up if they want to have a chance at breaking through to real recognition."

Elodie had recognized that shortcoming, and had always put it on her to-do list year after year. And year after year it got forgotten or brushed aside by some other crisis. Maybe this would be the year she finally got to it.

"And then there's the whole funding problem. The foundation relies almost solely on the donations from a few select sponsors, most often the elite ones that get invited to the banquet and no one else. It really limits the impact the foundation can have. Last time I volunteered, they ran out of pamphlets because they didn't have it in the budget to print more. But if you opened it up to a wider variety of sponsors, maybe even the public..."

The train of thought ended with him running a hand over the back of his head, embarrassed.

"Sorry. I got carried away."

Elodie smiled. This guy...he was really something. Delia didn't know what gem she'd stumbled upon here.

"Follow me," she said, turning on her heel.

Thankfully, if the heavy footsteps behind her were any indication, the guy followed.

This was the first time Elodie had ever skipped a meeting. But she was already late to said meeting - another first - so she figured she was already in trouble. Besides, this was just as important. She had a meeting to discuss The Hope Foundation later in the day; she was pushing it forward. Why not? Her immaculate schedule was already ruined.

They stopped in front of a large office door with two guards stationed outside. Elodie only had to knock once.

"Come in!"

One guard opened to door, letting them into the large office.

"Katy Kat, just in time," Mom sing-songed from where she sat behind her desk, engrossed in her work. If the plaque on the office door didn't read Queen Finnley Schreave, no one would know that this small blonde woman in a floral dress and pale blue cardigan ruled a country. Right now, she just looked like a mom with her feet in slippers, hair thrown up, and make up off, which was more a comfort to Elodie than she would ever know.

The office looked more like a mom space than a queen's space, too. Instead of the usual high-backed chairs and filing cabinets and political maps used as decorations on the walls, there was a well-worn sofa covered in throw pillows and sherpa blankets, built-in bookcases that held novels from Harry Potter to Thomas Payne's Common Sense to the most current encyclopedia, and a mini-fridge in the corner stocked with all the snacks Elodie and her siblings loved. Mom chose this office because it overlooked the gardens: her favorite place in the palace. Sunlight streamed through the open curtains, sunning Janus plus three more lazy cats.

If there was anything Mom loved more than her children, it was her cats. She had three: a long-haired snowshoe named Penelope, an orange tabby named Petunia, and a grey Scottish fold named Persephone. She spoiled them rotten and gave them more attention than Kase liked to say any of her children ever got. When Elodie was younger, her mother had a cat named Magnus - her first cat ever and a gift from Dad - but Magnus went to kitty heaven sometime before Petunia joined the family.

Mom looked up, the smile on her face growing curious as she spotted the unexpected guest. "Who did you bring with you? Another stray?"

"Mom this is..."

It was then Elodie realized she had never gotten the guy's name. They had been so engrossed in conversation that Elodie had forgotten to introduce herself.

"Dante Wallace-Chavaria, Your Majesty." He stepped forward and offered Mom a handshake. Mom's smile grew as she took his hand, and Elodie knew it was because she was grateful not to be bowed at for once.

"Ah, yes, you're one of the Selected. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Dante can actually help us," Elodie said, before Mom got it in her head that Dante was there to make a complaint. Which he had every right to do. Delia's behavior during the interviews was appalling to say the very least. Elodie hadn't had time to rip Delia a new one yet between work, all the Selection event planning, and growing tensions with Felix, but it was definitely on her to-do list. "I ran into him in the hall, and it turns out he has some pretty great ideas about The Hope Foundation banquet."

"Is that so?" Mom took a seat on one end of the sofa and patted the other side for Dante to sit. The cats took interest in the movement, Penelope brave enough to leap into Mom's lap and curl up into a fluffy ball demanding to be pet. "Well, let's hear it. Heaven knows I could use all the help I can get."

Elodie was going to be totally honest: she zoned out.

She tried her best to keep up with the debate Mom and Dante had started, but she quickly fell out of her league. Fundraising and event planning was not Elodie's forte. She was a taxes and policy type woman. Normally, she just sat in on these meetings out of necessity and requirement, agreeing with whatever Mom decided. Elodie had no idea that there were so many nuances, so much politics.

"The medical community is crazily underrepresented," Dante was saying when Elodie tuned back in, getting a little heated. He'd managed to stay on top of himself until now, but the more they talked, the more passionate he became. "A majority of those with severe mental delays end up in nursing homes or assisted living facilities, if they're lucky and aren't dropped by the system. And yet, as someone who will be responsible for ordering those placements in the future, I had to do all my own research to even find The Hope Foundation."

I'm not saying we need to reform the entire health care system - " Okay maybe he was trying to say that judging by the look on his face, but nothing was perfect. Elodie knew there were flaws, but there was only so much she could do at once, and so many other problems to juggle as well. " - but maybe if the inner circle of donors was expanded from upper class socialites, then maybe so many kids wouldn't slip through the cracks. No offense."

"No, please, take every offense," Mom said, amused at Dante's attempts to remain respectful. Mom had always liked approaching everyone as equals. Dante was starting to warm up to that, but it still took some getting used to. Not everyone expected the Queen of Illéa to be so open to hearing her own court roasted. "I understand the need for the pomp and circumstance, hosting fancy dinners for people to soothe their consciences with gracious donations, but it does get...tiring. Some of these women whip out their checkbooks and start saying 'my grandmother was a Two" like it's so worldly of them to abandon the old caste traditions."

"Caste tradition or not, I think you'd be surprised at the number of people willing to help if they had the chance."

"Yes, I think I would," Mom replied in that way that spoke of wisdom and experience. She was impressed with Dante. Elodie could tell. She hadn't seen Mom so engrossed in a meeting in a long time. "You know, I have a meeting with Miss Azalea Banks, The Hope Foundation President, next week. I think you should sit in on it."

"I don't want to intrude."

"Nonsense," Mom waved the worry away. "Lea's going to love you. Your ideas are fresh and you make a lot of good points. I've been royal more years than not. Sometimes I forget what life was like before all this. Thank you for making me remember."

Dante didn't say anything. There really wasn't anything to say. He had to be pretty overwhelmed already as it was. He came here for the Selection, not to plop himself down into the middle of charity drama. Still, Dante didn't look like he was backing off. In fact, he looked like he was ready to embrace the challenge.

"Your family must be very proud of the man you've become," Mom continued, and briefly Elodie wondered if Mom wished that Kase was a little more like Dante: a little more willing to show initiative, to get involved.

Something unreadable passed over Dante's face, the blink and you miss it type. "Yeah, I...hope so."

A knock on the door drew everyone's attention to the head now poking through the entryway.

"Hey, am I interrupting anything?"

Elodie ignored the way her entire body lit up at the sound of Jordan's voice. Nope. She wasn't going to look too closely at that, nor was she going to look too closely at his suit of the day and the way he looked really,_ really_ good in olive green.

"Nope, not interrupting," Elodie said instead of something embarrassing.

Jordan took that as his cue to walk the rest of the way into the room.

"Jordan, so good to see you," Mom crooned, getting up from the couch to give Jordan a hug and kiss his cheek.

"Good to see you too, Mrs. Schreave."

It was such a ridiculous nickname, but Mom had insisted when they were children that if Elodie was going to call Josie Mrs. Reinhardt then she should be called Mrs. Schreave. _None of this Your Majesty nonsense,_ Mom had insisted, putting her foot down._ They're just kids. _Eventually Mrs. Reinhardt turned into Miss Josie, but despite Mom's persistence that he could call her Finnley, Jordan refused to budge up on Mrs. Schreave.

"Who's this?" Jordan asked, gesturing to Dante who was still seated on the couch next to Elodie. Jordan was friendly as ever, but there was a tiny flicker of tension around him that Elodie had never seen before.

Right. Introductions.

"Jordan, this is Dante Wallace-Chavaria. He's participating in the Selection."

Jordan let out a low whistle as they shook hands, the tension Elodie thought she saw earlier melting away. "Courting Delia is no small feat. Good luck."

"Thanks. It still doesn't feel real yet."

"Give it a few more days. Then it'll start feeling like a real circus."

"Jordan, be nice," Mom chided underneath a laugh. The fact that even she wouldn't deny the impending nightmare was telling. "Is this just a social call, or is there anything we can help you with?"

"Actually I was looking for Elodie," he said, casting a hopeful glance Elodie's way. "Do you mind if I steal you for a minute?"

"Sure! We were just wrapping up here." Or, at least Elodie was wrapping up. It looked like Mom and Dante could talk for hours more.

Elodie kissed her mother and wished both she and Dante a good morning before exiting the office with Jordan.

"I tried to find you using your schedule, but you weren't in in the council room."

Elodie had a paper copy of her schedule posted week by week on the cork board outside her office. That way she could be accessible and easily located at all times. It was her own idea, one that her father adopted about a year after she'd started using it religiously. But it only worked if she actually was where she said she'd be. The thought of Jordan going through all the trouble to find her even after the schedule failed lit something warm inside her.

"Sorry. Dante ran into me, literally, and the train further derailed from there," Elodie explained. "I'm glad you found me though."

"Me too."

They walked down the hall in silence. Jordan wanted to say something. Elodie could tell by the way he started clasping and unclasping his hands behind his back, how his steps occasionally rocked back at the heels. He was nervous. Why was he nervous?

"So...the other night...that was weird, right? I'm not reading into things?"

"No, that was totally weird," Elodie agreed more as an apology than anything. "I'm sorry about Felix. I tried to tell him you were coming into town, but I guess he was...taken off guard."

"It's fine. Really, I get it." Jordan shrugged his shoulders, looking somewhere down the hall instead of at Elodie. "I guess I just want him to know that I'm not trying to encroach on his territory or anything. I didn't come here to make any enemies. I wanted to make friends."

"And you have friends. You're my _best_ friend. Felix will have to get over it."

"It must be weird for him though. Me showing up out of the blue like this."

"Maybe, but it's not like I haven't talked about you around him before."

Jordan paused. "You talk about me?"

"Yeah, all the time. Just like you probably tell stories about me. What part of best friend don't you get? Our lives are practically inseparable." Elodie felt like she was rambling. She never rambled. It was not a comfortable realization. She couldn't even bring herself to look at Jordan's face, afraid of what she would find there. "Besides, it'll be impossible to stop talking about you now. Essie is smitten. She has asked me no less than five times in the past day when you are coming back to play in her house."

"Tell the princess I am at her leisure - " Jordan's phone rang sharp and clear, cutting him off as he pulled the offending device out of his pocket. " - just as soon as I take this."

"Of course," Elodie said, waving him off. "Go be the Governor of Allens. You know where to find me."

"Dinner tonight?" He asked, hand covering the mouthpiece while someone with a dull, monotonous voice droned over the other end. "I would hate to keep Essie waiting."

"I'll let her know."

Jordan nodded, all smiles and bright eyes and sparkling white teeth. He was going to make a good governor, Elodie could tell. He already had that politician's charm, but it was a genuine charm as well. The people were going to love him.

Just like she did.


	16. The Thing About Pressure

A/N: The best way to understand Gabbi's aesthetics? Stream _folklore_ by Taylor Swift.

* * *

The Thing About Pressure

The thing about pressure was, there was always a tipping point.

A moment, a split-second tipping point when everything, that culmination of stress now cracking, creaking, became a little too much and everything just -

The cuff on Gabbi's arm beeped.

The pressure lifted.

"One-fifty-two over eighty-eight," the doctor said, clicking her tongue. Gabbi used to put forth the effort to learn their names, but now, she didn't care. They all sounded the same. "A little high today, Your Highness. Have you been taking your beta blockers?"

"Yep," Gabbi replied, popping the "p". No matter what she said, the doctors never believed her. She hated her beta blockers anyway. They made her nauseous and dizzy and if she stood too quickly after taking them she saw stars.

"I think it might be a good idea to start you on a supplementary therapy."

"The last meds nearly wiped out my kidneys. I had to pee through a straw."

"Catheter," the doctor corrected, not bothering to entertain Gabbi's dramatics. "It would be a different kind this time."

Gabbi shrugged, indifferent. They had tried her on what felt like every regimen known to man kind; she was surprised there were any options left. It wasn't like anzything they gave her could save her. All they could do was buy her more time.

"Am I good to go?" Gabbi asked, rolling down her sleeve. Technically, this was her space, her room. Gabbi should be asking the doctor to go, but when the doctors were there, it felt less like her room and more like the basement infirmary. Gabbi would rather be the one doing the leaving. Gave her practice, at least.

"As good as can be expected, Your Highness." The intense look of disapproval the doctor was doing a poor job of disguising told Gabbi that there were other words to describe her current heath besides _good_. But this woman wanted to keep her job, unlike the previous four cardiologists Gabbi had fired in the past year, so she refrained from any lectures in the spirit of concern.

The silence paved the way for a new kind of pressure, the insidious kind that came with guilt. Gabbi knew what the doctor was gearing up to say before the words left the woman's suspiciously thin lips.

"At some point, we will have to discuss palliative care options. Preferably with your parents."

_Preferably never,_ Gabbi wanted to say.

"Some point. Not today," Gabbi said instead, her standard answer.

"The longer you wait, the harder - "

"Not today!"

Just because she wasn't afraid of death didn't mean she wanted to spend her precious minutes talking about it. She would acknowledge her mortality the second it became relevant: on her death bed and not a moment sooner. Deep down, she knew that was a selfish want, but she had so little control over anything. She wanted control over this one thing, and she would have it.

Riding the high of this surge of determination, Gabbi did the most defiant thing she could think of: she left her room.

The doors swung open with less drama than expected. Kind of anticlimactic during this pivotal moment of breaking quarantine, but for the best since no guards came running down the hall to shove her fragile body back inside its bubble. The doctor would probably rat her out, but Gabbi figured she had a good hour before hell rained down upon her head.

And she was _starving_.

No guards stood at the entry to the dining room. Good, no family inside. It wasn't early enough for breakfast to still be served, but not late enough for the plates to have been cleared. Gabbi was so caught up at the sight of food that she completely missed the not-so-stranger sitting at the end of the table.

Mouth half-full of blueberry muffin, Gabbi apologized, "Sorry. I'll just come back later - "

"It's fine," Ezra insisted, gesturing to the many open seats. "I would hate to be the reason you missed breakfast."

Gabbi didn't have to be told twice. She finished loading up her plate with more food than she would ever eat - she always had eyes bigger than her stomach, even before the meds made her nauseous - and took the seat directly across from Ezra. He was dressed down again in a threadbare teeshirt and well-washed jeans, his hair an absolute mess like he forgot to run a comb through it. He didn't seem to be in any rush to make himself look more presentable.

"I didn't think any Selected would still be hanging around."

Ezra's cheery disposition darkened just a little. "The princess stood us up...again."

"Whoa, that sucks." Gabbi couldn't say she was surprised, but she was a little disappointed in Delia. "How many times does that make this now?"

"I lost count after the second day, to be honest." Ezra shrugged, trying to pretend that didn't bother him. He was a terrible actor. "I thought she was playing hard to get."

"Maybe," Gabbi shrugged, wondering how much she should interfere and eventually settling on lending Ezra a hand because she had never seen someone with such pathetic wounded puppy eyes, and she lived with Hayden. "Nothing with Delia - _Princess_ Delia - is ever straightforward. She's probably scared or something."

"Scared?" Ezra repeated, incredulous. Gabbi didn't fault him for not believing her. "She seems like she isn't scared of anything, least of all what people think."

"When people are scared, they push everyone away. They do things, say things, in the hope it scares them off," Gabbi said, thinking about how she was speaking more about herself than Delia. "Just, uh, don't be so quick to judge a book by it's cover, you know?"

Ezra was quiet for a moment, thoughtful. "You sure know a whole lot about the princess."

"Perks of living here, I guess. You get to know everyone."

"And what about you?" Ezra asked, cocking his head to the side with a winning smile. "Who gets to know Gabbi Leger?"

Gabbi swallowed the rest of her croissant, mouth suddenly dry. She didn't like to talk about herself. People only wanted to know one thing anyway.

"I'm not that interesting."

"Oh? Sounds like something an interesting person would say." Ezra pushed back his chair to go sit in the one next to hers. Reflexes of warning people to stay six feet away played on the tip of Gabbi's tongue, but she held it. She liked pretending to be normal. It was more thrilling than walking out on her doctor. "How about this? I ask one question about you, and you can ask a question about me. Tit for tat, so to speak."

That sounded like a horrible idea, but Ezra looked so eager it was hard to say no. The pressure to rise to the challenge simmered.

"Okay...fine, I'll bite." She took a chunk out of a blueberry muffin for good measure.

Ezra's grin was as wide as the cat who caught the canary.

"What is your favorite color?"

"Yellow." Maybe this wasn't too terrible, Gabbi conceded. So long as they stayed on safe topics. "And yours?"

"Orange." The answer was instantaneous, expected. "Best part about living in the palace?"

_More like a prison,_ Gabbi thought. but she couldn't say that, not when Ezra looked at everything with wide, wondrous eyes. "The gardens."

"Oooo good one," Ezra said thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair as if reminiscing. "I need to get out there again, really appreciate them."

"And maybe not get caught sneaking around this time."

"Hey! I was not intentionally being a creeper."

"Sure," Gabbi conceded, a smirk on her lips. "Are the gardens your favorite as well?"

"Is that your question?" The pressure went from a simmer to low heat. Gabbi didn't know what that meant. She didn't say anything, just kept maintaining eye contact with Ezra until he answered. "Nah. My favorite part is the food. Breakfast this morning was just...wow. I need to get my hands on the pastry chef because those lemon-ginger scones were heavenly."

He rubbed his belly, grinning something fierce. Gabbi should have known that grin only spelled trouble.

"What are you most scared of?"

So much for safe topics.

"Spiders."

"Everyone's afraid of spiders. That doesn't count."

"It's a legitimate fear." Gabbi didn't know what the big deal was. Why wouldn't he let this one go?

"And I'm afraid of small yippy dogs taking me down by the ankles, but that's lame! Anyone could say that. I want to know what you, Gabbi Leger, are truly afraid of. Planes falling out of the sky, that clown that's really an alien from outer space - "

"Leaving a legacy," she cut him off, the truth out of her mouth before she could stop it. Only the General knew this fear of hers, or at least suspected it after the hard hinting she had done in the graveyard. "Or _not_ leaving a legacy. I'm afraid I'll die before I leave my mark on the world."

"You don't want to be forgotten."

"No one wants to be forgotten. In a way, that's even worse than dying."

The silence stretched as Ezra thought. If he was disturbed at the dark turn of the conversation, if she was raining on his sunshine parade, he didn't say.

"You are one morbid woman, anyone ever tell you that?"

"Part of my angsty seventeen-year-old vibe," Gabbi said glibly. She didn't really care what Ezra thought of her. There wasn't enough time left to care about what other people thought. "So what are you afraid of, for real? Or are yippy dogs your kryptonite?"

Ezra laughed, but it was short-lived and tinged with something serious, sad.

"Sometimes I have these nightmares. I wake up and I'm ten years old and back in the system. I wake up in this crowded room, it's dark and cold and I don't know anyone's name. I'm crying for help and no one can hear me. I'm completely alone." Ezra tipped his head to the side, smiling through it all, though it barely pulled at the corners of his mouth. "I guess I'm most afraid of waking up and having my whole life be a dream."

That was...not what Gabbi was expecting. And a whole lot to dump on a total stranger. Why was he telling her this? What did he want from her? Gabbi wasn't exactly the best at comfort. So, she aimed to lighten the mood instead.

"Anyone ever tell you, you are one morbid dude?"

Ezra's smile brightened. "They usually tell me the opposite, actually."

"Hmmm so I'm the lucky one who gets to hear all your morbid thoughts...or do you open up the dark corners of your mind to every stranger you meet?"

"Just you. The kids I work with have to deal with enough dark stuff, their parents too."

_The kids?_

"What do you do?" Gabbi asked, realizing they'd skipped over the basic 'get to know you' questions and jumped straight to the deep stuff.

"I'm a nurse in the oncology wing of the Medical University of Sota Children's Hospital."

Gabbi could have laughed at the sheer irony of the situation. It wouldn't be her life if everyone she knew wasn't somehow touched by death.

"Ah. That explains it. You're used to hanging around the dead."

"Hey! They're not dead. They're fighting. Surviving. Every day is a celebration of life."

_Spoken like someone who's never had to face it._

Gabbi snorted. "Everyone must love your unfailing optimism."

"Certainly doesn't hurt my chances at winning Employee of the Month." With that bright white smile, who wouldn't want to vote for him? It was a lot to have focused on her, made her want to look away. "What about you?"

"Do I look old enough to be part of the work force?" Gabbi asked. She knew the dark circles under her eyes aged her a few years, but not enough to jump into the next decade.

Ezra raised his hands in surrender. "Surely you want to be something when you pull on your big girl pants and grow up."

"I don't know. Haven't given it much thought."

"Really?"

"No point," Gabbi shrugged. "I guess I always thought I'd join the family business."

"Military?"

_Dying tragically at a ridiculously young age._

"Something like that." She picked at the grains in the table, furrowing her brow. She had never been asked what her plans for the future were. No one really cared what she did with her life; even if she were perfectly healthy, her only job would be to smile for cameras and not cause the family any more scandal. Be a good princess. Gabbi knew, deep down, if she could live out the rest of her years, that would never satisfy her. "If I had to choose, when I really think about it, I would have loved to be an actress."

"You still can be," Ezra said. Gabbi huffed a laugh and rolled her eyes but that did not deter Ezra. "No, I'm serious. You've got this whole vibe going on, like a shy librarian who is actually a badass ninja warrior."

"Call Spielberg. You've just come up with his next blockbuster," Gabbi joked, and they both laughed and laughed and laughed until laughter faded to companionable silence. Gabbi was surprised that none of the guards had come in to end the party. Or maybe, just maybe, the universe had gifted her some happiness for once.

And then, Ezra had to ruin it.

"So...what do you think?"

"Excuse me?"

"Do you think I have a chance at sticking through this thing? I mean, I can't be that off-putting. You seem to like me enough."

Oh, right. The Selection. Gabbi had almost forgotten.

"Hmmm, I don't know. I felt a lot of peer pressure to divulge my deep dark secrets. I had no idea what you would do if I didn't answer - "

"Ha ha, very funny," Ezra laughed a little and rolled his eyes. "But seriously."

"Seriously? You really want to fall in love with the princess? Be a prince?" No offense to Delia, but that was very hard to believe. She tried to imagine her sister with someone like Ezra and it just...didn't click.

"Yes...no...maybe?" Gabbi gave Ezra a look that spoke to just how confused and unimpressed she was. "Okay, time to give up another secret. I'm not really here to woo the princess and live happily ever after."

"Shocker." Given Delia's nature, she didn't blame Ezra for having an ulterior motive. Many of the guys probably did. "Then why are you here?"

"The money." He said 'money' like it was a dirty word, like he was ashamed. "I know it's a terrible reason, but I'm buried in mountains of student debt, and my moms...they do their best, but it's just...it's not enough sometimes. The stipend for being in the Selection is_ insane_. It's more than enough to cover the bills and my loan payments. Between Mom losing her job and me being out of work for this, it's kind of the only thing keeping us afloat right now."

Gabbi had heard a lot of sad stories. There was that time Mom signed her up for that support group, which lasted for all of half a meeting before Gabbi couldn't stand the sheer amount of self-pity in the room. But there was no wallowing, no woe-is-me from Ezra. Only a determination to do what he had to for his family, and an unfailing optimism that somehow, everything could turn out okay.

How did he do that? Keep holding on to the positive? It was infuriating.

"Fuck. I'm going to get in so much trouble for this," Gabbi muttered under her breath. Then, she squared her jaw and looked Ezra dead in the eye. "I'll help you."

"What?"

"I'll help you win the Selection. Or, at least win over Delia so she doesn't want to kick you to the curb."

Ezra's eyes grew two times their size. If it were possible, his jaw would have unhinged itself and fell to the floor. "Is that even allowed?"

"Not at all."

For the first time, Ezra looked genuinely mad. "I don't want your pity. That's not why I told you."

"It's not pity. After all we shared, I consider us friends, and friends help other friends during their time of need. So let me help you." _Let me help you before I change my mind_. _Let me help you because this is the best worst mistake I could possibly make._ "Besides, I'm Gabbi Sch-_Leger_. I do what I want and damn the consequences."

There were no consequences; Gabbi was pretty sure she could commit murder get away with it, but Ezra didn't know that.

"Wow. There are some serious perks to befriending the royals."

"Yeah. Sure are." Some serious drawbacks too, but he would find those out much later, once all the damage was done. "Now, get out of here. Rest up. Because Operation Woo the Princess starts tomorrow, noon sharp - "

"I have Selected class at noon."

" - _one_ sharp. The rose garden. Don't be late, or I will leave you there."

"Aye aye, captain!"

Then, strangest of all, Ezra lunged forward and pulled Gabbi into a tight hug. She was so shocked, she barely remembered that she needed to respond, move her arms, do anything other than stand there stiff as a board. But...when was the last time she had been hugged by someone who wasn't her family? When was the last time anyone in her family hadn't been afraid to hug her at all? The General was receptive to her hugs, but that was different. That was the General. This was...this was tight and warm and strange...and good.

So good.

Gabbi relaxed all at once, letting her weight fall onto Ezra. He didn't seem to mind that he was doing all the work, letting her hands run over where the smooth cotton of his tee-shirt pulled across his shoulder blades. Ezra wasn't all that much taller than Gabbi, the perfect height for Gabbi to rest her head on his shoulder.

She closed her eyes for one beat, two beats, three.

Then, she pulled away.

The cool air of the room snapped around her vulnerable frame. She wasn't aware of how warm Ezra's hug - any hug - was until she was suddenly without it. She would do anything,_ anything_ to get that back. Her body swayed towards Ezra just a little, against her will, but she held herself at bay. This was the first friend she had made since childhood. No need to scare him off with her freakishness just yet.

By the time her mind stopped floundering, Ezra had already left and taken all the warmth with him.

Gabbi stared back down at her plate. The food that looked so good before now seemed dull and uninteresting. Her head hurt from all the laughing, smiling, thinking. She felt tired. A nap was a good idea. The doctor should have cleared out of her room, and there was a good chance that if she left now, her verbal lashing would amount to a minimum.

She was in the middle of wrapping strawberries in a napkin for later when the doors opened back up.

Had Ezra forgotten something? Had had changed his mind?

But it was not Ezra at all. It was Hayden. Gabbi hadn't seen her since that awkward family breakfast, and Hayden was looking at Gabbi like she was some great surprise. As if Gabbi still didn't live here.

"What are you doing down here? If Mom sees, she'll freak."

"I figured that lights off meant it was safe to sneak into society."

Hayden did not look convinced, but she made no move to call the guards. "I'm not taking the fall for this."

"Didn't ask you to." The strawberries had gone slightly sour from exposure, but Gabbi popped two in her mouth. "What are _you_ doing down here? I thought you were allergic to carbs."

There was no way Hayden was there to sample the tarts, not dressed in designer clothes from head to toe like she was about to step out onto a runway. Her heels were pointed enough to be daggers, the jewels on wrist and neck heavy enough to pack a punch. Maybe to an outsider it could be missed, but to Gabbi, it was obvious: Hayden had dressed to kill.

"I'm looking for Delia. My favorite pashmina has gone missing, and I know she took it."

"If Delia has it, you sure you want it back? Last time she turned your sweater into a micro dress and returned it covered in no less than three different unidentifiable substances."

"Don't remind me," Hayden grumbled. "Her last casualty was my eyeshadow."

Gabbi felt bad for Hayden, she really did. Delia never took Gabbi's clothes, which she supposed she should be grateful for. But that was probably only because Gabbi's clothes were under lockdown in her room, and the trouble of retrieving and then returning them would be too great. Also, the "risk of contamination" lecture from Mom was not worth any of Gabbi's oversized, overworn cardigans.

"You think she does it on purpose?"

"I know she does it on purpose," Hayden huffed, murder in her eyes. "Just like I'm going to rip her hair out when I find her, on purpose."

"She might have beat you to that punch. Rumor is she gave herself some nasty looking bangs."

Hayden snorted. "Then she won't miss a few more patches."

She knew that Hayden meant it too. Hands would be thrown at some point, hair would go flying, and Gabbi would hear about the winner's victory through the gossip mill the next day. Sometimes, Kase would come by to give her the 411 when he wasn't flying off the handle and around the world, but that hadn't happened in a long time.

"Why do you need a pashmina anyway? There some fancy dinner coming up that I need to avoid?"

"Just doing inventory of my wardrobe," Hayden dismissed in that way she did when she was hiding something. "With Auden gone, I figured she wouldn't mind if I moved a few of my things into her closet."

"Just a few?" Gabbi teased, earning an eye roll from Hayden. Once upon a time, Hayden would punch Gabbi in the arm, but Gabbi was getting easier and easier to bruise these days. "It's weird with her being gone, different than when Kase runs away. Feels like something is missing."

Hayden hummed in agreement, staring off into space. "I miss her."

"I miss her too," Gabbi replied, knowing that however she missed her sister, Hayden was feeling the loss of her twin ten fold. "We should get the whole fam on a video chat or something. I think she'd like that."

"The whole family? That might take a miracle these days."

"Yeah. But we should still try." Gabbi wondered why this was suddenly so important, until she realized it had always been important. "Things are changing. Who knows how much longer we have until..."

"Hey. You're _fine,_" Hayden said with an intensity she reserved for fighting lines at designer sales. "Don't make me miss you too."

For a moment, Gabbi thought this was going to turn into a touching sibling moment. But this was Hayden Gabbi was dealing with. She should have seen it coming when Hayden stormed out of the dining hall, a storm of Chanel-scented fury.

Maybe it would take a miracle to get the whole family together after all.


End file.
